Inexcusable
by Just A Penniless Writer
Summary: Countless different futures in which Hermione Granger and Lucius Malfoy could form a relationship. Compatibility not included.
1. Love & War

**NOTE:**  
This collection of fics was originally posted on my lj as part of my Pick a Fic: Round II, in which posters could pick a plot bunny and prompt for me to write. The response was… more than I expected. None of these one-shots is connected to the previous in any way (except for _Regarding Hair_ as a short follow-up to _Love & War_), and I experimented with different styles and tones throughout. I don't think it worked out too well, but... I don't think it particularly bothers me anymore either.

* * *

**Love and War**  
_astarvingwriter_

_**Standard Disclaimer Applies  
**__**Author's Plea: **_Originally as part of Pick a Fic: Round II on my lj for the prompts picked by Inell:  
Bunny #24 _A vacation spot. A week of rest and relaxation. And someone who tried to kill you two suites over._ with Prompt 032. _Sunset  
_There is a short follow-up to this, **…Regarding Hair**, that will be posted shortly. As always, enjoy if you can.

* * *

Hermione was rightfully angry at her boss for forcing her to take a week off work right up to the moment she stepped into her reserved room at Hotel Magnifique. The palatial columns and brilliantly sophisticated linens were just ostentatious enough to make her feel spoiled but not enough to feel uncomfortable. The light of the glorious sunset set everything ablaze with colour and life. 

The minute she stepped inside the adjoining bathroom, she forgot all about work --and the existence of a world outside this suite-- entirely.

It was… well she didn't suppose one could call it splendid without sounding insulting. For all her advanced vocabulary, she didn't particularly think any one word did the room justice. The shining porcelain that was warm to the touch… the fluffy towels that always remained dry… the fragrant soaps and lotions that promised o so many wonderful things… the blessedly silent mirror…

It truly took her breath away, which was a rare occurrence indeed. Once she was able to drag herself out of the bathroom several luxurious hours later for the longest and best night of sleep she'd experienced in quite some time, she was feeling quite forgiving towards her boss for forcing her to go on holiday and handing over this reservation.

Quite forgiving indeed.

Perhaps the only thing greater than the bathroom was, in Hermione's humble opinion, the book borrowing system she discovered when she finally woke in the morning. She had become so caught up at work during the last few months that she had neglected to stay up to date in the latest magical innovations. That the Hotel offered a complete current library that was accessible by simply designating which book one wished to peruse was simply ingenious. Altogether, Hermione thought she could gladly live out the rest of her days as such.

A more than agreeable day was spent reading and enjoying the pleasant weather from her balcony. It was not until sunset that evening, as she enjoyed a light dinner, that Hermione found anything at all that was disagreeable about Hotel Magnifique, though it was less a fault of the Hotel itself than its patronage. The balconies for each suite covered the seaward side of the Hotel, and, in an attempt to promote communication between patrons, there was very little distance between each. The suite next to hers was currently occupied by a quiet couple. The Petris were perhaps a bit snooty but had greeted her courteously from their own balcony that morning.

The suite next to them was occupied by someone Hermione had no desire to ever see again.

"Violet, put the wretched thing down and join me."

"But grandpapa--"

"Now, Violet."

"Father would--"

"I am certain my son would dispose of you without hesitation if he witnessed you frolicking with a common house elf. Now, you will join me at the table like a civilized child."

Hermione couldn't help but stare at the girl of no more than five that obediently sat next to Lucius Malfoy two balconies over. The child was absolutely stunning, especially in the brilliant light of sunset, and sure to be a complete beauty once she was grown. However, considering the parents were Draco Malfoy and Gabrielle Delacour, the girl's attitude towards others would doubtless be atrocious.

From the child, Hermione's eyes perused the form of Lucius Malfoy. The old anger and fear clouded her senses for a moment before she forced herself to remember that this man had been 'rehabilitated' after the war and seen fit to reintroduce society. Of course, his return had certainly had nothing to do with the sudden increase in funds available to the Ministry. Without even realizing it, her jaw tightened and eyes narrowed as she viewed him enjoying the breeze from the sea.

"Grandpapa, the lady likes you."

Though she had lost herself in unpleasant memories and much more pleasant alternate possibilities, Hermione instantly came back to the present and found her gaze locked with that of Mr. Malfoy.

"Do not say such foolish things, Violet. Return inside and prepare for your father's return. I will be in shortly."

The child retreated inside without question which made Hermione almost grin. After all, she expected the child of a Malfoy to be spoiled beyond repair by now. The older Malfoy remained on the balcony and stared at her with hard eyes before he smirked.

"I hardly expected to find a person of your standing at such an establishment," he said with poorly concealed derision.

She frowned and pointedly ignored him. Her inaction seemed to only amuse him as he barked one brittle laugh before withdrawing. Determined not to let him ruin her vacation, she remained long after, sipping wine and enjoying the approaching night.

The next day was blessedly Malfoy free until she decided to read on the balcony after her bath. Her robe stuck to her a skin a bit much and her wet hair was taking longer to dry without the usual barrage of spells, but she found the breeze against her clean skin very calming and soon fell into a light slumber.

When she woke a short hour later, it was to the feeling of someone watching her. A quick look around showed her nothing until she glanced to the line of balconies on her right. Adorned in robes that were in contrast to the soft colours of the Hotel, he was leaning against the rail of the balcony staring at her without the least bit of contrition. Even from the distance, she could still discern an unscrupulous expression on his face.

"I hardly expected to find a person of your failings spending your time as such," she said with a raised brow. "Are you quite finished?"

"Not entirely." He paused to smirk maliciously. "You are ill advised if you believe yourself safe, girl. I could have killed you with a simple word as you slept so soundly."

"As you have attempted and failed to kill me before with more conviction, I will simply have to find you incapable of doing so. If you _were_ going to, you would have done it before now."

"Perhaps I wish to see you suffer first."

"Well then, you have succeeded as speaking to you is very much torture."

"You are at liberty to leave."

"And let you ruin my holiday? Hardly."

She readjusted herself on the chaise and attempted to ignore him. However, she hardly trusted him with her back turned in normal circumstances, let alone now after such a telling exchange. All was silent and only the pierce of his stare was felt for several long moments before he stepped away from the railing and instead rested in his own chaise.

His unwanted presence was an uncomfortable itch between her shoulder blades, and yet she refused to leave. She even went as far as to have her dinner there, being sure to face the Enemy in quiet mockery.

He merely watched her with a certain smirk as he ate his own meal, so perhaps it didn't work quite as well as she'd hoped.

By sunset, she was ready to give in to defeat, if only to keep him from staring at her so unreservedly. Still, it was her _vacation_, and she refused to give it up without a fight.

"I understand that I am very amusing to watch, but could you perhaps see it fit to find another to study?"

"I do not believe at all that you understand _why_ you are so very amusing to watch."

As soon as the thought occurred to her, her wand was in hand and pointed defiantly at him.

"What have you done to me? What spell?"

"So trusting."

"Considering my current company, I believe I have every reason not to trust you."

"The sentiment is shared. However, on this occasion, I have done nothing to you. Put your wand away, Mudblood, before you do something entirely probable."

Her hand tightened briefly on the wand before she slowly lowered it. She had dropped her guard for a second before he was armed and whispering the proper words. Without further warning, she was stiff as a board and angry as all hell.

"Now, Miss Granger, perhaps spending some time to yourself will grant you some modicum of respect for your betters. Do not tempt me again."

And from the corner of her eye, she could see that he was gone even as his threat lingered in the quickly chilling air surrounding her. And, as the sun finally sunk beneath the horizon, Hermione swore that her first action upon breaking the petrification spell would be to plot Lucius Malfoy's imminent demise.

* * *

It took until near sunrise before the spell finally wore off enough for her to drag herself back into her suite and pass out on her bed. Even the delicate bed clothes and luxurious mattress could not stop the dreams that besieged her. Fortunately, these half-remembered and more then a bit odd dreams provided inspiration for her treatment of the Enemy. 

The finer points were crafted using the Hotel's stationary. By early afternoon, the plan was complete, and by sunset, she was ready to put it into play. Everything she had needed was quickly made available by the generous Hotel staff and through a few owls to a select few acquaintances. Her former Potions professor seemed exceedingly quick to respond with the requested substances, though she thought perhaps his well disguised vendetta against all Malfoys explained a lot.

More so, she lucked out when she just happened to summon the house elf that had apparently been playing, quite happily, with Lucius' granddaughter. Snippy was happy to do anything to help Hermione, especially when she mentioned that they would really be helping little Violet Malfoy. That might or might not be true, but it was still possible, however remotely, that Violet Malfoy would be happy with her New and Improved Grandfather.

Altogether, when she took her dinner on her balcony, it was more than a bit difficult to keep the smirk off her face, especially once Lucius greeted her from his own balcony, lifting his wine glass in silent mockery. She managed to keep her features moderately still until he finally drained the last remnants from his glass and set about mocking her.

"I hardly expected to be disgraced with your company after our… disagreement last night."

"You hardly expect anything, Mr. Malfoy. Perhaps that is a fault in my favour."

They spoke no more that night, though the yell of outrage that she was privileged to hear the next morning more than made up for that. However, she didn't actually see the results of her plan until sunset when she took her customary dinner on the balcony. When she felt his presence to her right and turned to face him, she was more than a bit happily surprised.

He really had no shame, or, rather, he had decided to forgo shame in favour of pretending his lack of lustrous locks did not bother him. His head was surprisingly shiny in the last rays of sunlight, and the sight was something that she was sure would be etched in her memory forever. Even her wildest imaginings didn't do justice to what Lucius Malfoy actually looked like without hair.

"Miss Granger," he said softly, venomously without bothering to look in her direction. "You are playing a dangerous game."

"No, Mr. Malfoy. You will find that I am not playing at all."

It wasn't until sunset two days later that he seemed to take her seriously. By that time, the situation had quickly progressed into a new war. The Petris, unable to take the continued, and quite active, dislike had taken their leave. The lesser Hotel staff had chosen their sides: those wishing retribution against injustices served Hermione, while those wishing payment served Lucius. Neither side trusted the other, and Hermione had even heard of squabbles in the break room.

However, the most tension remained on the balcony. No spells were directly cast at one another, but commentary and parting shots were not uncommon.

There had been, of course, a point, shortly after her own hair had been butchered and dyed an atrocious green colour, that Hermione had questioned her continued perusal of the balcony when it was certain to bring her nothing but irritation. At the time, she had justified her actions by saying that she would not let someone as odious as Lucius Malfoy disturb her pleasant vacation. That he already had disturbed her vacation was hardly at issue. It was the thought that counted.

As she prepared for another evening of repartee, she received a short tap on her door and admitted a squib butler carrying a full tray "compliments of the Hotel". Her careful and thorough spell-check detected no undue magical signature on the scrumptious feast, and so she allowed herself to enjoy it. She was well into her third pastry when another, more hurried tap of her door, interrupted.

This time the man was not recognizable as a staff member from either side of their war. She was immediately on alert.

"Miss Granger, please pardon my interruption. I am Monsieur Albec, the owner of this establishment. I have just come to thank you for your patronage, and see if you have enjoyed your stay."

"Yes, Monsieur. I have much enjoyed the Hotel. I have received nothing but the best service, and do intend to keep it in mind for my next vacation."

"Wonderful! I am glad to hear it. I will leave you to your meal then. If you have any need of further services before your departure tomorrow, please send word. I will be happy to assist you."

"My… departure."

"Yes, Miss Granger. Do you wish to extend your reservation beyond the seven nights originally requested?"

"Um… No, that will not be necessary. I was simply surprised. Time passed so quickly. Too quickly. I was not expecting it."

"That is understandable. Enjoy your evening, Miss Granger. "

Once the door was shut and warded behind her visitor, Hermione quietly returned to her balcony and solemnly stared at the sinking sun. It was hard to believe this would be her last night in such comfort. It was harder to believe that despite her company, she had quite enjoyed her stay.

"If only you had the decency to enjoy the view from inside your suite. Your poor colouring is ruining it for others."

She turned slowly to gaze at the man in question, only to come to the sudden realization that perhaps she had enjoyed her stay in part _because_ of her company. The 'war' between them had provided much needed creative stimulation that she frequently found lacking at work. It was… refreshing.

"You have but tonight to be so assaulted by my presence. Tomorrow, you may enjoy the view without me."

Even from the distance, she could discern the widening of his eyes. It surprised her a bit how easily he could be read. For a Slytherin, he was a bit sloppy with some of his expressions. She dared not dwell on the thought that perhaps she was just becoming well read on his expressions.

"Well… I suppose I can make due with a sullied view for one more night. It hardly matters now."

She heard beneath the words and took the comment as it was intended: acceptance of her right to remain as she was. It made her grin slightly.

They sat on their respective balconies for quite some time, content to enjoy the quiet and the encroaching darkness. It was not until the sun had faded far from view and but a few clouds retained colour that she dared to break the silence.

"And what shall you do without our disagreements to keep you company?" she asked without daring to look at him.

"Enjoy my time here in peace, no doubt." He paused, and it was just long enough to make her glance his way. "I can only hope the next occupant of that suite is as ill behaved."

"I wish you luck, then." She turned away again and settled into watching the stars take over the free portions of the sky.

"Good evening, Miss Granger," he said softly. When she turned to acknowledge him, he was already gone into his suite. With a smile, she did the same.

* * *

She had only been returned to work for several hours, and already she was exhausted and missing the Hotel. Of course, it had been an early morning to start, what with checking out and dropping her luggage at her flat before dressing for the office. She had been far too busy to partake in breakfast and was far too overwhelmed to enjoy lunch. By the end of the day, she was far too exhausted to prepare dinner. 

Resigned to getting take-out, she was thus surprised when she was met at the Apparition point in the lobby of her office by an unexpected visitor.

"Miss Granger."

"Mr. Malfoy. Good evening."

"To you as well." He paused and she could only wait with curiosity. "Those robes are simply hideous. Surely even one such as yourself knows they are unflattering."

"They are my favourite set."

He sneered, but there was little malice in it.

"I should have expected as much. However, I am prepared to… ignore your attire if you would care to join me for dinner. The staff has changed shifts, and those who favour you now serve me. I would prefer to know if the meal is edible before enjoying."

"I see. I suppose I could be tempted despite the lacking company."

"Could you be tempted?"

"Can you at least vouch for the quality of the wine?"

"From my own stores."

"Very well. If you would, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Of course."

The sunset was just as beautiful from his balcony as it had been from hers. The meal, after it was replaced by a shamed group of Hotel staff, was just as excellent. Even the company, as insulting as he could be, was enjoyable.

Dinner was followed by dinner the next night. A week of dinners was followed by a weekend brunch when he returned to his Manor. The weekend brunch was followed by quite enjoyable activity in his study and bedroom.

When questioned a year later as she prepared for her wedding in her former suite as to why she chose Lucius Malfoy it was only fitting that she tell the truth.

"It'll be much easier to accost him if I share his bed. Besides, he has a suite on call at this Hotel. Altogether, it makes for an excellent arrangement. Oh, and I'm foolish enough to love him. There is always that."

And nobody rightly had a response to that. They could only watch as Hermione became Madam Malfoy and enjoyed the rest of her sunsets at Lucius' side.

* * *


	2. Regarding Hair

**NOTE:  
**This collection of fics was originally posted on my lj as part of my Pick a Fic: Round II, in which posters could pick a plot bunny and prompt for me to write. The response was… more than I expected. None of these one-shots is connected to the previous in any way (except for _Regarding Hair_ as a short follow-up to _Love & War_), and I experimented with different styles and tones throughout. I don't think it worked out too well, but... I don't think it particularly bothers me anymore either.

* * *

**Regarding Hair...**  
_astarvingwriter_

_**Standard Disclaimer Applies  
**__**Author's Plea: **_Originally a follow-up to a Pick a Fic: Round II fic, **Love & War** on my lj. Enjoy if you can.

* * *

It was a wonderfully lazy weekend. 

Perhaps not truly lazy though. After all, they had quite a workout in the morning and most of the previous afternoon. It just didn't really seem like a workout if they never left the bed.

Still, it felt like a particularly wonderful lazy weekend, and they weren't about to be bothered with particulars.

Except for one.

"Lucius…"

"Yes, my pet?"

"Your head... It's prickly. Your hair is finally growing back after all this time."

"Truly? I hadn't noticed."

"Hm… It's not very attractive."

"You had no qualms with my appearance earlier."

"Of course not. But it is quite different when your head on my breast has all the effect of a sand storm."

"I am quite comfortable here."

"You can be comfortable with a pillow protecting my skin. You wouldn't want my skin to be rubbed raw, would you?"

He remained thoughtfully silent. She waited impatiently before he finally assented and rolled onto his back. She gladly took his former position.

"I think I might miss your hair."

"How could you? You never truly experienced it. Otherwise you would never have rid me of it."

"True. However, I think it's an experience I intend to have. The sooner the better. This prickliness is horrid. I suppose I can ask Severus for some solution."

"Severus?"

"Hmm… He owes me a favour."

"How did you become gifted with such a rare thing?"

"I married you. Apparently my unending presence in your life is construed as punishment."

"Little does he know."

"I might have also offered him a night in our bed."

"Really."

"Don't be too cocky. If I were to judge by his expression, he meant you on bottom."

"I suppose I can—"

"No. You can't. Not without practice. Lots of practice."

They were silent as the both considered the current offer and what the practice might entail.

"Owl Severus and ask him for some of his special solution."

"And if he asks for payment?"

"Tell him to have patience. Apparently I need plenty of practice."

Few coherent words were shared the rest of the day. It mattered little. They knew what they meant.

* * *


	3. Plotting Interest

**NOTE:  
**This collection of fics was originally posted on my lj as part of my Pick a Fic: Round II, in which posters could pick a plot bunny and prompt for me to write. The response was… more than I expected. None of these one-shots is connected to the previous in any way (except for _Regarding Hair_ as a short follow-up to _Love & War_), and I experimented with different styles and tones throughout. I don't think it worked out too well, but... I don't think it particularly bothers me anymore either.

* * *

**(Plotting Interest)**  
_astarvingwriter_

_**Standard Disclaimer Applies  
**__**Author's Plea: **_Originally as part of Pick a Fic: Round II on my lj for the prompts picked by simones123:  
Bunny #26 _Narcissa invites Hermione over in an attempt to interest Draco and save the family's status. The plan works with one exception - Draco isn't the male Malfoy who is interested. _with Prompt 087. _Life  
_As always, enjoy if you can.

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy was a witch on a mission. Every step she took in her priceless footwear (_designed by none other than Madam Laude_) snapped on the marble floor (_imported directly from Italy_) of the Manor with clear intent. This meeting was going to be absolutely perfect even if she had to sully her own hands (_by choking a house elf_) to make it so. 

Everything was falling down around her (_with exquisite grace_), and she simply refused to take that sitting down. The time for inaction had long passed. She had protected her family during the war in what simply ways she could (_usually involving tricking others into sacrificing themselves_), and she would do so again.

Her sisters were imprisoned (_Bella never did like Azkaban_) or untraceable (_Andromeda never did like her_). Her son was destitute and distrusted. Her husband was disinterested (_in her, in continued wealth, in living_). Her Manor was beginning to reek of desperation (_and house elves_). It was time someone set things to right, even if that involved inviting a muggle-born (_fortunately wealthy and almost respectable_) into the Manor and, hopefully, into the family (_how she wished it were not necessary_).

She could only hope Draco would take the bait that was offered (_so willingly_).

* * *

Hermione had the feeling she was at a zoo. The exhibits were all very pretty, as were their inhabitants. However, she also had the distinct impression that there was something terribly wrong about the whole situation and at any moment, one of them was going to attack. 

"Hermione, dear? Would you like some more tea?"

"Oh! Yes, thank you. I was just admiring your lovely home."

"The Manor has been in Lucius' family for eight generations. I like to think every Malfoy wife has left a little piece of herself behind."

"Of course."

Hermione tentatively took a sip of her tea. Her sniff hadn't detected any obvious potions, but a minute taste was also necessary to be certain.

"I suppose you are curious as to why I invited you here today. It is not so common that we have guests."

She could hear the unflattering, unspoken comments the prim woman withheld. It took some effort to smile back.

"It had crossed my mind to ask. However, I would not wish to be rude."

"It is only natural to be curious." The woman seemed to be steadying herself for some sort of grand declaration. Hermione could only wait with calm interest. "I invited you here today to offer a proposal. My son, whom you attended Hogwarts with, will be soon taking over the family business. However, as he was otherwise occupied as a child, I fear he does not benefit from a full and rounded education. I wish to offer you compensation if you would be so kind as to aid him in completing his studies."

Immediately, Hermione chanced a look at Draco, whom had been sitting with obvious disinterest to her side. She found him now alert and more than a bit angry. His face, already thin and sharp, showed every taut muscle as he so obviously ground his jaw.

"Mother," he said with a rumble. "May I speak with you outside?"

Narcissa merely nodded with resignation. They left the room without sparing a look at either of the remaining occupants.

* * *

Draco was angry (_furious really_), and it scared her for a moment that he might make a scene (_again_). Fortunately (_courtesy of her own limited powers of Occlumency_), he managed to withdraw outside the (_Silenced_) room before he let go of his anger (_definitely fury_). 

"What are you doing, Mother?!"

"Ensuring our future, Draco."

"By insulting my intelligence in front of a common Mudblood?"

"I did no such thing. Please, Draco, listen. Try. Take what the girl might be willing to give and use it to bring us back into power."

He appeared to give the matter some thought (_though not nearly enough_) before he turned angry (_just angry now that he knew her reasoning_) eyes back to her.

"There's more."

She felt rebuked (_which she often had with Lucius but never with Draco_).

"No, no more."

"You are being far too accommodating if it were truly so simple. A request of this nature could have been first proposed in writing."

Her heart almost jumped (_in fear that he knew her plan, with pride that he was so cunning_).

"You brought her here instead," he continued (_with that dreaded wariness_). "You wanted her to see us. You wanted me to see her."

Her heart did jump (_in fear_).

"Now, Draco, you know better than to assume. Forgive your Mother this oversight and let us not keep our guest waiting."

He didn't seem to trust (_at all_) the hand she (_ever so tentatively_) placed on his shoulder. It pained her (_hurt her so much_) to see the distrust in his eyes and know (_all too well_) that it was earned.

"Very well, Mother."

He looked so resigned (_and tired and hurt and…_) when he opened the door before majestically waving her in (_he always was a polite boy_).

* * *

They had left her alone with the senior Malfoy. It only occurred to her now that she had not seen him in person, with such proximity, since that ill-fated raid on the Department of Mysteries all those years ago. 

Suddenly she was more than a bit cautious.

He was eyeing her with a distinctly odd expression, as if she was a particularly difficult puzzle he wished to decipher. She could only wonder what he would do to find his answers.

"What are the current exchange rates?" he asked suddenly, slowly. Still, she was well versed in responding to questions with efficiency.

"One Galleon to five Muggle Pounds."

"What insidious law has the Minister attached to the War Orphan proposal?"

"A tax on all war memorabilia to support the rebuilding of the Ministry, complete with Ministerial Suite."

"Why haven't you married a Weasley?"

"I have no wish for children at this stage of my life."

"You would rather concern yourself with career."

"The benefits are simply marvellous."

"Will you be marrying my son?"

"Pardon?"

* * *

She had stopped them mid conversation (_important if looks could say anything_). Lucius was actually conversing with the girl (_he hadn't conversed with anyone in so very long_), and the girl (_ or woman, perhaps, if Draco would simply see the potential_) was looking positively confounded (_what had she interrupted?_). 

She hoped they would continue (_so that she may know more_), but the silence persisted as she and Draco (_hiding his anger so terribly_) resumed their seats.

"Please excuse the interruption. Have you given the offer any thought?"

The girl (_woman really, with the way Lucius was staring at her legs_) still seemed a bit confounded (_how had he done that?_).

* * *

What to say, what to say? She very well couldn't be rude, could she now? They were all being very polite, and even her untrained eyes could see the missing ornaments about the room. They had been through a bit of trouble, no doubt unaccustomed. 

The smiles might be strained but the effort was true enough. Hermione never had been the type to forget an attempt.

"I'm afraid I do not have an answer ready for you at this time. I will need to review my schedule."

"Of course, my dear! We shall talk no more of such matters then."

And they didn't. The rest of the hour was filled with pleasant if tense talk of little consequence.

Still, she couldn't get Lucius' quick interview off her mind. It didn't help that he didn't take his sharp eyes off of her. It made her feel indecent and curious all at once. What exactly was he seeing that brought that smirk to his lips? Would it be something she appreciated or was he still considering her as less?

Her questions didn't seem likely to be answered. He only stared, and his wife only continued to talk, and his son pretended to be elsewhere.

When she finally managed to escape, she found those eyes followed her beyond the gates of the Manor and even felt their presence long after she had Apparated away. It was disconcerting and strangely exhilarating to be the focus of such interest.

There were still so many questions, but those that remained forefront were those of why: why had Narcissa truly had the proposal, why had Lucius asked her such questions, why had he stared, and why had she responded as such.

She had no answers. She could only wonder at the unexpected turns her life was taking.

* * *

He was smirking (_how she had missed that smirk!_). He was smirking (_so lovely_), and he seemed to have a pleasant plot (_he simply had to share_) in mind. 

"Lucius…" she began (_hesitantly, no need to frighten away his interest_).

"She's become quite the witch, has she not?" he said with (_fondness? gratitude?_) nonchalance.

"I would not have asked her otherwise." He smirked (_so positively lovely_) again so she (_bravely, so bravely_) continued. "She could make our life happy again."

"Yes," he replied (_definitely plotting something_). "She very well could."

He turned and walked steadily (_purposefully_) towards his own suite of rooms (_so far from her own_). His back was straighter (_so delightfully lovely!_) than it had been in months (_had he truly been so bored of her?_).

The thought clicked (_so loud, so easily_), the idea hit (_so hard, so easy_).

If Draco wasn't interested (_perhaps his interests lay elsewhere_), perhaps there was an option with Lucius (_he wasn't hers anymore anyway_).

With a smirk of her own (_it had been so terribly long!_), Narcissa took her own steady, purposeful steps down the marble hall. There was plotting (_it truly had been so terribly long_) to do before the night was over.

* * *


	4. Those Falling Words

**NOTE:**  
This collection of fics was originally posted on my lj as part of my Pick a Fic: Round II, in which posters could pick a plot bunny and prompt for me to write. The response was… more than I expected. None of these one-shots is connected to the previous in any way (except for _Regarding Hair_ as a short follow-up to _Love & War_), and I experimented with different styles and tones throughout. I don't think it worked out too well, but... I don't think it particularly bothers me anymore either.

* * *

**Those Falling Words**  
_astarvingwriter_

_**Standard Disclaimer Applies  
**__**Author's Plea: **_Originally as part of Pick a Fic: Round II on my lj for the prompts picked by chanteurdombre:  
Bunny #44 _Hermione is the Imperio Bride of Lucius. Or is she?_ with Prompt 064. _Fall  
_As always, enjoy if you can.

* * *

They pitied her. 

When she arrived at functions, adorned in splendour and accompanied by her beautiful husband... they pitied her.

It was all there in her eyes, they said. Her eyes were dead to the world and had been since her supposed courtship.

It was entirely too obvious, they said. The _true_ Hermione Granger would never have married him, but she was gone now. She was gone beneath his skill, beneath his spell, and it was doubtful she would ever have the will to return.

They pitied her, yet they did nothing to save her from her supposed doom.

It was all rather senseless.

It was also rather circular. Her happiness at her new arrangement _had_ been partially false. After all, her marriage was merely business. The pity that met her everywhere brought on the pained expression that had now become permanent. The rumours had then been supplemented by her hurt which had only hurt her more.

She wondered vaguely if perhaps a rumour could become self fulfilling.

At the manor, she was free to rant and rave and relieve her stress with any number of powerful spells designed to tear down the world around her. She would sigh and cry and pant her frustration until Lucius called her back upstairs to face the next round of hypocrisy.

But only at the manor. When she found herself outside, all hope of dissuading anyone faded. Letting them believe she was forced into her current position was ultimately better than the disappointment that would meet her if they ever came to understand the truth. Still, it hurt, and no number of presents from her new husband could cure the illness of her despair.

Perhaps his attentiveness was by far the most suspicious of their arrangement. He was only doting when there were curious eyes about, going so far as to treat her like an invalid. His explanation had been tedious and revealed a truth she disliked all too much: the only way he could please his snobbery and still marry her was to act in such a way as to further imply the public's belief.

The 'Imperio Bride' title the Prophet placed on her must have been a godsend to him.

"This was supposed to be a mutually beneficial arrangement!" she shouted at him regularly.

"It is, my pet, had you but the inclination to use what you have been given," he replied once, all other times remaining silent in the face of her rage.

It took several long months of drudgery to understand his intent. It took several long days to accept it. Afterwards, she found it was all too easy to take advantage of her titles.

She was merely the Imperio Bride of Lucius Malfoy. She merely sat there unheeded, an abandoned victim quickly forgotten while her company spoke of other, more pleasant things and then other, more important things.

She was merely the Imperio Bride of Lucius Malfoy, and she knew everyone's secrets.

* * *


	5. Fourth Rate Romance

**NOTE:**  
This collection of fics was originally posted on my lj as part of my Pick a Fic: Round II, in which posters could pick a plot bunny and prompt for me to write. The response was… more than I expected. None of these one-shots is connected to the previous in any way (except for _Regarding Hair_ as a short follow-up to _Love & War_), and I experimented with different styles and tones throughout. I don't think it worked out too well, but... I don't think it particularly bothers me anymore either.

* * *

**Fourth Rate Romance**  
_astarvingwriter_

_**Standard Disclaimer Applies  
Author's Plea: **_Originally as part of Pick a Fic: Round II on my lj for the prompts picked by maddyriddle:  
Bunny #7 _Narcissa can only have her marriage annulled if Lucius dies or commits adultery. While attempting to kill him, the adultery unintentionally occurs. _with Prompt 079. _When?_ With Bunny #62 _Someone has hired a hitman to kill Lucius (Mr. Borgin? Snape? Percy?). Hermione gets caught up in Lucius' attempts to keep safe (human shield?), _thrown in for good measure.  
As always, enjoy if you can.

* * *

Hermione had never had a particularly peaceful life. Her childhood had been filled first with bullies and resulting uncontrolled displays of magic, then magical bullies and resulting controlled hexes. As a teen, she had participated in a war and been subject to all that war entailed. She had also been friends for over a decade with two of the most cursed boys in all of existence and therefore consistently found herself involved in some scandal or another. 

However, she would have proudly acknowledged that she had never, before this day, stooped to hiding behind the rotting remains of a horse with Lucius Malfoy.

"What in Merlin's name is happening?!"

"I thought that much was obvious. There is an assassin just behind those buildings with his wand trained on whoever leaves this despicable shelter."

"And _why_ is there an assassin just behind those buildings? The war has been over for years!"

"War has no business here. This is personal."

"Why would anyone want to kill me?"

"Though I can think of many reasons, you still think too much of yourself. The assassin wishes to kill me."

"You? Are you certain?"

"Of course."

"In that case--" She had no sooner lifted her bushy hair over the safety of the horse's carcass than a curse that looked particularly vicious singed the top.

"It appears the assassin cares little for who he harms in his efforts to kill me."

"_Why_ does he wish to kill you? Besides the obvious, of course."

"My wife has taken it in mind that she prefers the company of Severus to my own."

"And…?"

"Our marriage was specific and subject to a Vow. She can only have the marriage annulled under two circumstances: adultery or death."

"You couldn't just cheat on her and have it done with?"

"I hardly expected she would take such drastic measures. However, I suspect she is working against time now. If she has already… engaged in intercourse with Severus, she has but the week to rid herself of our marriage before the Vow takes effect and punishes her."

"You are both absolutely crazy. How long do we have?"

"When does her punishment take effect? It hardly matters. If she was smart, she put the assassin under a Vow as well."

"What kind of Vow?"

"Most probably to continue his efforts to kill me until the marriage is annulled. To him, it's only a matter of when."

"Then go shag someone! Get it over with!"

"And how, Miss Granger, do you suppose I do such a thing with an assassin following me?"

"Apparate. Now. Leave, and leave me alone. I will delay him long enough for you to escape, but I _refuse_ to become anymore involved in this ridiculous plot."

"I can hardly be faulted for your poor timing."

"Go!"

"I cannot."

"And why not?"

"Anti-Apparition wards, you foolish Mudblood. Or hadn't you noticed?"

"But… when?"

"During your insipid speech. Now, any other brilliant ideas?"

Her cheeks burned red with fury. Combined with her mantle of uncontrolled hair and the decided grip on her wand, she looked the very picture of the warrior maiden. It took an effort to look away from her, especially when he knew the only other object to look at was the dead horse in front of them. Still, he managed.

"I survived the battle of Hogsmeade," the young woman stated with solemn conviction. "I _refuse_ to die now, because of your foolishness, behind a dead horse. Simply not going to happen."

And with a flash of insane bravery, the witch leapt in front of the animal as she fired spell after spell. Once it appeared she was winning, he dared to join her. After all, he was hardly as foolish.

"I think he has retreated. For now. Care to Apparate us out of here? I don't believe I can manage."

He merely watched as his 'protector' fell in an unconscious heap to the ground. Assuming she'd been hit at least partially by at least one of the assassin's spells, he found himself in the odd and uncomfortable situation of feeling _guilty_. It was unsettling. Thus, he spared little thought when he picked her up with sneer and Apparated them away.

* * *

"Is he dead yet?" 

"No, Madam. However, I have reason to believe our contract will be fulfilled soon."

"How so?"

"A young witch was involved in the latest attempt. She fought at his side and was injured."

"And?"

"When I checked the scene, they were both gone. I can only assume he took her with him."

The Madam was silent as she considered the circumstances. He could only wait.

"Was she attractive?"

"In a way, Madam. Her hair was a mess, but her figure was pleasant."

The Madam frowned.

"No, that will not do. You will simply have to kill him. Go. Do what I have paid you to do."

He saved his disappointed sigh until after he Apparated away. Clients never listened.

* * *

She woke to the feeling of a sharp object poking her ribs. Her vision finally cleared enough to find Lucius Malfoy and his ridiculously flashy wand above her. 

She was not amused.

"Are you quite through?"

"Are you quite awake?"

"I thought that much was obvious."

He frowned and that was just enough incentive for her to slowly raise herself from the bed. It only occurred to her as she felt the texture of the blankets beneath her that it was a rather nice bed.

"Where are we?"

"The Leaky Cauldron."

"I find that doubtful."

"You have obviously never asked for suite 42."

"What difference would that make?"

"I thought that was obvious. The quality is almost passable. We were in luck. Usually this suite is reserved for those who have just been wed."

She stared at him blankly before falling back on the bed.

"Dear Merlin, I am in the honeymoon suite with Lucius Malfoy. Rubbish. My life is rubbish."

"I daresay this is the only noteworthy event in your pitiful life that _cannot_ be called rubbish."

"Would you please be quiet? I am trying to think of a way out of this mess."

"By all means, think all you wish. However, I would be gracious if you would please use your newfound powers of movement and leave my presence. You are hardly wanted."

She looked affronted and more than a little angry. With a huff, she threw herself off the bed, straightened her robes with a few harsh pulls, and, with a menacing frown, reached for the door to the suite.

No sooner had she opened it than a curse hit the frame. She closed it quickly thereafter.

"Bother! He's found us already."

They quickly and efficiently warded the door against intrusion. Once all was set, and they were settled in for the assault, he joined her at the peephole to chance a look at their opponent.

"The room across the hall," he whispered.

"So I saw," she responded with a slight breath into his ear. It was distracting.

"How do you suppose we escape?"

"I don't know yet. He's already fallen victim to the direct assault, so he's probably prepared for that. Something different this time."

Yes, she was definitely distracting.

"In the meantime…"

"Strategy? Or you could explain to me exactly how you managed to get out of prison."

"You would need Veritaserum."

"I used my last yesterday."

"Really."

"I am hardly the only person to keep it on hand."

"Of course not. But do tell how you came to use the last bit."

"A supplier was attempting to cheat me."

"Good use."

"I thought so."

"Not a Ministry approved use, no doubt."

"Of course not. They are far too silly."

How he came to be grinning at her, he did not know. How he came to be so close to her, he also did not know. All he did know was that she was looking particularly attractive, especially as she discussed her questionable business practices. It was more than a little enticing.

"Who was the supplier?"

"Garbins."

"No one would fault you then. No doubt trying to supply third rate merchandise for double the cost."

"Fourth rate for triple."

"Ah. He must be more lenient with Dark merchandise."

"Or mistook me for a fool."

"He will do no such thing in the future, no doubt."

"No doubt at all."

They could only stare at each other with a certain kind of anticipation. When the door pounded with the force of an explosion, it provided all the catalyst needed to provoke them to the next logical step. As frantic as the snogging was, the shagging against the trembling door was even more so. They hardly bothered removing clothing. Nearby patrons could only mistake the sounds as more spells cast by the assassin.

Only the assassin knew better. He sent one last spell at the door for good measure before retreating. After all, his job was done.

It had only ever been a question of when. It didn't really matter how.

* * *


	6. Business Arrangements

**NOTE:**  
This collection of fics was originally posted on my lj as part of my Pick a Fic: Round II, in which posters could pick a plot bunny and prompt for me to write. The response was… more than I expected. None of these one-shots is connected to the previous in any way (except for _Regarding Hair_ as a short follow-up to _Love & War_), and I experimented with different styles and tones throughout. I don't think it worked out too well, but... I don't think it particularly bothers me anymore either.

* * *

**Business Arrangements**  
_astarvingwriter_

**_Standard Disclaimer Applies  
Author's Plea: _**Originally as part of Pick a Fic: Round II on my lj for the prompts picked by foudebassan:  
Bunny #14 _Lucius discovers the identity of Draco's silent business partner_ with Prompt 070. _Storm_  
As always, enjoy if you can.

* * *

The boy had done quite well for himself. This was not questionable. 

What _was_ questionable was _how_ the boy had managed it.

It wasn't as if Lucius had disapproved of the business, or would have had he been informed of it, but he couldn't exactly support his son while he languished in Azkaban. The majority of the Malfoy accounts had been released from their lock down several months after Draco was finally cleared by the Ministry of guilt in the matter of the death of the Old Fool, Dumbledore.

Still, by then the boy's business had already been occupying its present building, doing enough business to keep afloat despite the reforming economy of the post war wizarding world.

And now, Lucius' careful examinations of their banking records had yielded strange half answers to his questions. Draco had not borrowed money from any wizarding bank of repute, good or ill, nor had be used any money in the vaults to pay for business expenses at any time.

This, of course, left Lucius with only two remaining answers: either Draco had a vault of his own hitherto unknown, or he had borrowed the money from someone.

Logic told him that Draco had neither the resources to suggest a hidden vault, nor the ability to keep the existence of such a thing secret. As well, some of the better strategies the business had undertaken spoke of a finesse Draco did not possess. It was much more likely the boy had found a silent business partner for whom to borrow funds and occasional advice.

And didn't that thought make him sneer with delight? He had his own business ventures that could use a push forward. An intelligent partner would make the process smoother. Someone who already had dealings with a Malfoy would be preferable.

Therefore, it was only a matter of discovering Draco's business partner and stealing him.

Such a plan seemed relatively simple in comparison to some of his previous efforts to become successful. Thus, it was a bit of a surprise when the identity of Draco's silent partner remained hidden beneath aliases and encoded record keeping. It was beyond frustrating that this man could hide from him so thoroughly. However, it also meant that the man was very intelligent and careful and therefore even more worthy of becoming the next partner of Malfoy Enterprises.

He would also be the only partner of Malfoy Enterprises not related to the family, though that could be dealt with. There were some lesser Malfoys that remained on the continent that might be tempted over once business was well again.

The fact still remained that in order to have this success, he had first to find the genius behind Draco's booming business. Thus it was that the ferocious winds and oncoming storm outside did not distract him from reviewing the ledgers in Draco's office, searching ever so carefully for anything that would give the mystery man away.

"Oh! Draco, I'm sorry, I didn't know you would still be here--"

He looked up, expecting to see someone who he could torture enough to tell him the identity of the man he sought. Instead, all he found was Hermione Granger staring down at him with a quirk of her brow.

"Can I assist you with anything, Mr. Malfoy?" she said with ill concealed derision.

"I am perfectly capable of assisting myself, Miss Granger," he replied in kind. However, if the quirk of her lips was any indication, the statement wasn't quite as on the mark as he'd hoped.

"I doubt you will find anything you want in that ledger. He keeps the one with all his secrets locked away and hidden."

"This one _was_ locked away and hidden, Miss Granger. I believe I am better acquainted with my own son than a commoner such as yourself."

"Was it now? I will let your son know that you think so little of him, that he would hide his ledger in such a simple place."

"Leave, Miss Granger. I have no patience for you."

"Regardless of what you may believe, this is _not_ your office. Actually, I'm sure you'll eventually find it is more _my_ office than anyone's. Now, if you would, _leave_."

There was an angry flash in her eye that he recognized, but a certain smugness that was less familiar. His thoughts backtracked as he tried to remember each and every one of their varied encounters within the last few weeks. Her words, so insignificant then, started taking on new meaning when he combined all he knew.

He was surprised and a bit disappointed he hadn't spotted the connection earlier, though he supposed anyone would be shocked that a Muggleborn witch would possess such cutthroat business tactics. It was simply unsettling. It was also more than a little… enticing.

"Very well, Miss Granger. I will take your leave if you promise me this: you will come speak with me before week's end. I have a business proposal I believe you might be interested in."

Her expression tightened, and he worried for a moment that she might turn her wand on him. Such an occurrence would be terribly inconvenient. His cane was against the other side of the desk and his spare wand was rather difficult to retrieve in this position.

"I do not suppose I will be rid of you if I do not agree," she said slowly. He was mildly surprised when her eyes flicked across his figure, but decided she could only be checking to see if he was armed. To think otherwise would make him a bit too lax with vanity.

"I am quite content to stay," he acknowledged.

"Very well. I will have Draco escort me to your offices on Tuesday. Now, if you please, I have work to do."

He smirked victoriously even as he closed the ledger and rose to his full height.

"'Til Tuesday, then. I will keep you from your work no longer. Good evening, Miss Granger."

His bow was only slightly mocking, and, after retrieving his cane and affixing his cloak, he set out from Draco's business and into the stormy gloominess of the street.

He was most looking forward to Tuesday. With luck and a certain measure of persuasiveness, he was sure to win her over to his side.

Back in the office, Hermione watched from a window overlooking the street as Lucius Apparated away.

"Tuesday then."

"Yes, Tuesday. Couldn't seem too eager, now could I?"

"And this will free me from your debt? This is really what you want?"

"Yes, Draco. He is really what I want. Now, about that merger Theo Nott suggested…"

* * *


	7. More

**NOTE:**  
This collection of fics was originally posted on my lj as part of my Pick a Fic: Round II, in which posters could pick a plot bunny and prompt for me to write. The response was… more than I expected. None of these one-shots is connected to the previous in any way (except for _Regarding Hair_ as a short follow-up to _Love & War_), and I experimented with different styles and tones throughout. I don't think it worked out too well, but... I don't think it particularly bothers me anymore either.

* * *

**More.**  
_astarvingwriter_

**_Standard Disclaimer Applies  
Author's Plea: _**Originally Choice C as part of Pick a Fic: Round I on my lj but not posted until Round II. It used the following prompts:  
Bunny #10: _Hermione comes upon another fight/duel between Lucius and Arthur. An accidental injury occurs._ with Prompt 034. _Not Enough_  
Much more depressing than I had originally envisioned, but enjoy if you can.

* * *

Arthur did not look apologetic. A bit guilty, perhaps, but it was a given that any remorse he may have been feeling was more in regards to the collateral damage than the extent of injury to his age-old enemy. 

"Do not look at me so, Hermione. It was only a matter of time before someone shut the git up, and I can only be proud that it was I. 'Blood traitor', am I?"

Hermione had known, since that first memorable encounter between the two men at Flourish & Blots, that Arthur Weasley was every bit as gung-ho and righteous as his aggressive children. Still, it was rather something different to come upon him attempting to pound sense into Lucius Malfoy. After all, that effort was quite wasted.

"Mr. Weasley, you could have killed him!"

Instead of looking contrite, Arthur said with an expression every bit as happily vindictive as his youngest son, "One less piece o'scum on the earth, that would be."

Her eyes, wide as they were by this point, could not pick out even the slightest bit of apology. Giving up, she turned to face the current problem. She only hoped for Arthur's sake that the man wasn't as dead as he looked. Reaching down to feel for a pulse, she was grateful to find it slow and steady, his skin surprisingly warm.

"He's only unconscious," she said with a relieved sigh. "But he will be feeling it when he wakes. If he wakes... I'm not sure the extent of head trauma. I need to get him to a healer if he's going to make it through without any permanent damage."

"Oh, just leave the blighter! Someone will find him eventually."

"Mr. Weasley, if you could be serious for a moment while I try to save your arse! We can't leave him here; he could die and if he doesn't, we cannot alter his memory while he is unconscious. He will very much know who did this to him, and he _will_ seek revenge. We may have won the war, but he still has friends in high places, else he wouldn't be free."

"Very well, very well. What do you need me to do?"

"Help me Apparate him to my flat."

"Of course, that sounds lovely-- Are you mad?!"

"It is the only place we can stow him until he wakes. Unless, of course, you wish to house him at the Burrow."

"Of course not! But, Hermione, you certainly cannot intend to care for him alone."

"I do not want to, but I do intend to. It isn't as if I can currently trust a Weasley not to worsen the situation!"

He honestly gaped at her for the comment, though perhaps she had said it with a bit too much bitterness. In fact, she had sounded very similar to her former Potions professor.

"Mister Weas -- Arthur. Let me take care of this. I mean no disrespect, but your presence will do more harm than good once he wakes. Now, help me Apparate him to my flat, and I will do the rest."

He grumbled, as she expected him to as he was already acting like his youngest son, but the man had already become so accustomed to taking orders from a fierce woman that there was no fighting it. Without another word, he bent and hoisted the unconscious bigot up and, between the two of them, managed to Apparate to Hermione's flat.

It took a full five minutes to drop their burden onto her couch and convince Arthur that his presence was neither needed nor desired. When he stepped out her door to Apparate, she thought he looked more relieved than anything which was for the best. With a grimace and steely resolve, she turned to her couch and her newest pet project.

* * *

When Lucius Malfoy woke up, it was to be greeted by a pounding headache and a frighteningly familiar face. 

"Lucius?"

The woman's face was swimming, or perhaps it was simply his eyes in their sockets, but it took him a moment to register who exactly she was.

He immediately tensed and murmured out something that was supposed to be a very snooty, "Back away if you know what's good for you, Mudblood" but most unenthusiastically was not. However, if the frown on her still swimming face was any indication, she understood mumble-talk perfectly fine.

"Lucius, dear, please be still. You aren't in your right mind."

The next statement he attempted was "I will _not_ be still, you commoner, and do refrain from calling me 'dear'." Once again his vocal aptitude fell short of expectations.

"Shhh... drink this and sleep. You'll feel much better in the morning."

She was holding a foul smelling concoction to his lips, and he fought valiantly her attempts to make him drink it for all of a few moments before dizziness overtook him. Before he quite knew what was happening, she had managed to pour the disgusting liquid down his throat. It wasn't a familiar taste, and he was tempted to ask her what exactly she was poisoning him with. However, he couldn't seem to find it in him to care as the dizziness receded and he fell quickly to sleep.

* * *

When Lucius next woke, it was to be greeted by the smells of various potions in various stages of brewing mixed with a very fragrant coffee. It wasn't one of the most pleasant mixes in the world, but it certainly had a certain appealing quality to it. 

When he actually managed to open his bleary eyes and take a look around, he was witness to a rather rare sight.

Swaying slightly in time to some soundless beat, his captor was humming softly even as she stirred an unknown concoction. The smooth motion of her hips, so odd considering his rare and barely remembered experience with her had shown a woman of exact and sharp movements, had him a bit befuddled to recall why exactly he disliked her.

He tried to sit up a bit, but the effort was wasted and his pained groan disturbed the woman from her work. She immediately cast stasis charms on all her potions before approaching him with concern on her expression and some sort of fire in her eyes.

"Oh, Lucius, stay down. Yes, just like that. You've bumped your head and really shouldn't be moving."

Another groan was his only response. Her words were only barely registered and only after the welcoming coolness of her palms on his arms and forehead.

"Lucius, dear, stay right there while I get your potion."

Part of him considered telling her exactly what she should do with 'his' potion. The rest of him was confused as to why he would ever think such a thing about such an obviously nice young witch. After all, he could remember no instance in which the witch had ever offended him, and his aching head could find no imperfection in her appearance.

Except for her hair. Even in its jewelled clip, it truly was abysmal.

"Here you are, now. Drink up. You'll feel right as rain when you wake up."

He nodded weakly as he accepted what he was given without question. All questions had died long ago. This witch would never harm him.

No. Here, and nowhere else, he was safe.

* * *

When next he woke, it was to be greeted by the face of his saviour. The woman was holding a damp cloth to his forehead, a frown marring her own features, as she mumbled disjointed phrases to herself. 

He thought he might understand some of what she said, but he didn't know how an unctuous unction could he worsening his injury. Why would he need such a potion? He was already persuasive enough.

He thought little more before falling back to sleep.

* * *

When next he woke, it was to be greeted by the smell of herbal shampoo and a certain warmth and weight he had not remember feeling in quite some time. Weary eyes showed him a mess of hair and a sleeping face resting at his side on the edge of a sofa. 

He didn't have much strength to do much more than watch her as she slept. Her breaths against his arm were slight and warm and delightful. Her skin glowed, even if it was a bit pale and showed her worry with shadows under her closed eyes.

Her hair was still abysmal, but he thought it suited her well right now. Certainly normal hair couldn't cover his side and chest so well, wrapping him in such pleasantness.

He wanted more.

Slowly, more because he still felt terribly weak than any wish for stealth or quiet, he raised his other hand and slowly, so very slowly, wrapped the fingers in the mess of hair that he could reach. The texture was wonderful misery –thick and clinging but well taken care of. Soft. Soft and strong.

He wanted more.

Her scalp then, fingers grazing it, feeling the heat from her head and knowing somehow that the mind housed beneath these curls was even now working steadily away. Still so soft and strong.

He _needed_ more.

Her cheek then, curly strands of hair floating above it, curly strands of hair still caught in his grasp. Thin skin, not much flesh beneath, but a jaw line cut smoothly, sharply, heightening the appeal.

More.

Her lips then, still more curly strands floating around, still more curly strands caught in his grasp. Thin lips, but bright. Lips made for speeches and spells. Smart lips.

He did not know this witch right now, but he _knew_ he wanted her right now. And when her eyes fluttered open and fixed him with a penetrating look that was sharper than her jaw and smoother than her skin, he _knew_ she was a good witch and would not deny him.

She didn't.

His lack of strength did little to impede them. She met his lips with some great passion, almost fury, and he took whatever she would give. She met his hips with some great passion, almost sadness, and he gave whatever he could give. And when he finished, he was so very tired he thought of nothing but warmth.

He almost didn't hear her apologies.

* * *

When next he woke, it was to a familiar environment. The sofa had been replaced by the luxury of his bed. The room was his own. 

"I'm sorry."

Her voice was steady and soft. It took a moment to find her sitting so sedately by the door.

"How…"

"You were knocked unconscious when you fought with Arthur Weasley. I was taking care of you, and thought you might benefit from a little subconscious persuasion."

His jaw tightened, and he felt a bit of pain in his temple as he began deciphering her meaning.

"Unfortunately, I took a bit more of a risk than I intended. Gregory's Unctuous Unction reacted negatively with the pain relievers. You almost died."

His temple positively throbbed now.

"I've managed to correct everything. You should be fine within the week, though you might experience some tenderness along the back of your head."

His wand was not in sight else he would have hexed her by now, regardless of any favours she might have done him.

"And I'm sorry. For the other night. I thought the unction had worn off, I thought maybe you were grateful for once… I didn't think at all. It was shameful, and it helped nothing."

"You are despicable."

"You called me Mudblood as you climaxed. You knew who I was."

"I did no such thing."

"Regardless of what you believe, that is what happened. Now, I have come here today to make an offer. I doubt you have any wish to remember these last few days. I know they are not my greatest hours. I will Obliviate the memory of Arthur injuring you to begin with, but I leave it as your choice whether we will be Obliviated of what occurred after."

"We?"

"If you forget, I wish to forget as well. I have no need of the memories otherwise."

He was still angry, but that flat expression, those tired eyes were all too familiar by now. He'd seen that look before and revelled in it.

Now he felt only tired himself. Looking at the shades of age crossing her features, he felt _old_. Perhaps she had acted in error, but at the moment he had no desire to torture.

Besides, he could _remember_ her. He could remember her tending him. He could remember _his_ voice begging for more.

"Very well. How do wish to complete this?"

"The mirror on your dresser will do. We both look in, both hold the wand, both say the words. It should work."

He only nodded and gently pulled himself from the bed with as much dignity as he could gather. When they were standing in front of the mirror, he more than felt her weariness. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to get this over with and forget everything.

"Ready?" she asked, a bit of a plea lacing the tone.

"Yes."

Her hand was rough and soft under his. He blocked it out and met her eyes in the mirror.

"_Obliviate_."

* * *

Arthur Weasley was preening. She didn't know why, and she didn't know why he winked at her and told her what a marvellous job she had done on cleaning up the area. 

H preened even more, smirked a bit, when a familiar figure was spotted across the street. The man, well dressed as always, spared a look at Arthur and merely arched a brow in return. When his gaze fell on her she felt positively exposed.

_Warmth. Soft warmth and a terrible error in judgement. Something wrong. Shared words and conclusions._

Impressions only. Nothing to catalogue, nothing to find. She _knew_ something was off and knew that _he_ knew as well. His eyes told her everything they didn't know.

So positively exposed.

"Miss Granger."

_More._

"I… found this. I believe it might be yours."

A jewelled hair clip, given to her by her mother. How he had come to possess it was a mystery. She didn't know if it was a mystery she wanted to solve.

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. Good day."

She walked away quickly, the clip biting into her hand.

"Hermione! Hermione! Did he _steal_ that from you?"

Arthur was so well impersonating his youngest son that she was tempted to treat as such instead of as her boss. Instead, she stiffened her spine and looked back into the blank portions of her mind.

_Warmth._

_More._

"No. I don't believe he did."

And she walked on, leaving everything behind.

* * *


	8. Little More than Sedentary

**NOTE:**  
This collection of fics was originally posted on my lj as part of my Pick a Fic: Round II, in which posters could pick a plot bunny and prompt for me to write. The response was… more than I expected. None of these one-shots is connected to the previous in any way (except for _Regarding Hair_ as a short follow-up to _Love & War_), and I experimented with different styles and tones throughout. I don't think it worked out too well, but... I don't think it particularly bothers me anymore either.

* * *

**Little More Than Sedentary**  
_astarvingwriter_

_**Standard Disclaimer Applies**__**  
Author's Plea: **_Originally as part of Pick a Fic: Round II on my lj for the prompts picked by travelintheways:  
Bunny #5 _The relationship as viewed by the painting of Abraxas Malfoy. Senility a plus._ with Prompt 069. _Thunder_  
As always, enjoy if you can.

* * *

There was remarkably little to do as a painting. If one was lucky, one had another canvas to escape to when the inclination arose, but most of the time there was only one hanging and very few other paintings within jumpable distance. 

That didn't stop him from trying, but there were only so many times one could hit a gilt frame before he became cracked.

Of course, that was assuming he wasn't a bit cracked to begin with. He knew his son liked to tell people that he'd died from dragon pox, but that was only half the story. Dragon pox merely brought his inherent madness to the surface. It was the resulting battle with his mirror --blasted thing had the gall to stare at him with affront!-- that killed him.

So perhaps he'd gone into the painting a bit left of centre, and perhaps the sedate life inside hadn't helped matters, but Abraxas had never been so off as to mistake a Mudblood when he saw one. The young woman that walked with such stealth and silence through his hallway had all the markings of a Mudblood.

"You are positively the worst excuse for a witch I've ever seen."

She jumped, and he smirked giddily. It was a Good Day, after all, and he hadn't been suitably entertained by more than his own hair in quite some time.

"Does my son know you are here? I suppose not."

"Will you please let me pass?" she hissed ungratefully. Naturally, he stiffened his back and glared at her.

"I will do no such thing... if you do not tell me a joke."

The woman nearly dropped her jaw in shock, which he thought was a terribly ignoble thing to do but befitting her nonetheless.

"A joke? You will let me inspect the manor without distress if I tell you a joke?" she asked, her voice nearly dripping with incredulousness.

"A joke or a bit of cheese, but you don't look like much of a painter. You don't look like much of anything, but perhaps you can be of some use. A joke now or I summon my son."

"But--"

"Now."

Her eyes were bright and her wand was gripped tightly in her hand. He half wondered why she didn't just hex him into silence, but that would be one of those logical things purebloods thought of. If he'd had any doubt as to her heritage, there was none any longer.

"What does a Wizard get if he crosses a pound coin with a drainage channel?"

"What--"

"Quidditch."

He stared at her long and hard, but she merely stared right back. Finally curiosity got the best of him.

"What is a pound coin?"

She opened her mouth to answer, but it was at this moment that his erstwhile living son decided to discover his intruder. The woman was frozen solid from both magic and fear before she'd even had a chance to say a word.

"Miss... Granger, was it? You are in my home without invitation. I am within my limited rights to hex you."

Abraxas snorted with amusement when the woman tried to make pointed statements with only the movement of her eyes. It seemed to work particularly well if the sneer on his son's face was any indication.

"No doubt your... friends are awaiting your return. Run away, Miss Granger, before you test my patience."

As soon as the spell was released, she wasted no time in scurrying to the door and Apparating away promptly with all the grace of thunder. Only then did Abraxas laugh giddily. The woman was more entertaining than he had suspected. Still, he was disappointed she hadn't stood her ground. He was more disappointed his son had made it so easy for her to escape.

"I did not raise you to be so lenient, Lucius."

"Father, you did not raise me at all," he responded in kind. "The girl is a menace, but her support is detrimental to my plan."

"Plot, my boy. Malfoys do not _plan_. Far too mundane."

"Such it is. Humour me, father."

"I always humour you. Now run along, boy, and play with your toys."

His son sniffed with disdain before scurrying off with a bit more dignity. Still, it made Abraxas crow with delight.

He wasn't quite sure how much time passed before the next time he saw the girl, but then it wasn't a particularly Good Time either, so that could have everything to do with it. On this occasion, she barely spared him a glance before his son escorted her quite forcefully out of the manor. He yelled various insults that seemed to somehow apply to both the woman and his son until his throat felt hoarse, and he retreated to the painting of his Great Aunt Vastitude where a bottle of wine waited.

Of course, he over drank and slept for what could have been an hour or a year but was more likely a few days or weeks. It wasn't particularly as if time were really so important to him now, if it ever had been, but he knew some time had passed as the woman's hair was different than the abomination he remembered and the young man that accompanied her looked familiar though aged.

"Draco," she hissed, and Abraxas realized it was this grating noise that had woken him. "Are you sure he isn't here? I can't risk him finding me again."

"Really, Granger, you are too terribly worried."

Abraxas wasn't very good with names, but the young man did look reminiscent of his grandson, with whom he'd had a few rousing conversations with when the young man was but a lad. However, that didn't explain why the boy would be associating with what was surely still a Mudblood.

"But are you--"

"You need proof? Is that it?" Obviously annoyed, his grandson stepped back and yelled out into the manor. "Father, I've brought a present for you! Bright shiny Mudblood, ready to shag to your heart's content!"

The woman looked positively aghast, even as her cheeks took on the rosy hue so envied by the dead. Abraxas chuffawed with delight before rushing off to find his son. After all, an offer like that shouldn't be passed up. However, he soon discovered there was no need. He was barely one painting into the next room when heard the approaching footsteps of Lucius. With all due purpose, he rushed back to his frame in time to watch the show.

"Draco, what have I told you about offering what you do not have?" his son said with disdain and disappointment.

"Only when I'm absolutely sure I won't be called on it," his grandson replied dutifully.

"I daresay Miss Granger has some opinion on that statement, should she get over her modesty to be sufficiently vocal."

"I... I... It's not _modesty_! I... I'm not quite sure if I'm surprised more that he said it or that you came at the mention of it."

And now this was getting really interesting. Abraxas watched with a bit of giddiness as his son and grandson exchanged a significant look.

"Miss Granger, you obviously have some further reason to invade my sanctuary than simply to annoy me and taint my home. As you have involved my son, it is further obvious that it is a matter of some importance to you. Shall we adjourn to the study, then, to discuss this further?"

"I doubt you'll be interested," she replied with a bit of affront.

"I doubt that you could possibly have any information regarding what I may or may not be interested in," his son replied in turn.

The two, thusly locked in conversation, walked on towards the study with a strange mix of consternation and comfort. Abraxas didn't bother following them. After all, there wasn't a painting anywhere near the study, for practical reasons. Also, why bother when a source of information was right here, gloriously left behind.

"Boy!"

"Grandfather?"

"Yes, boy. Tell me who the woman is."

"Why is she a woman while I am a boy? I fought in a war, you know."

"Who hasn't fought in a war?"

His grandson merely stared at him.

"Well, boy? Tell me, and I'll tell you where I buried those 600 galleons I stole away from Tom Scot before I died."

"They said you spent those 600 galleons on the mirror that killed you."

"Why would I do a foolish thing like that? Honestly, boy, have you no sense?"

His grandson merely stared at him some more until Abraxas made it a point to pull a painted galleon out of his pocket and flip apparently aimlessly in the air.

"Hermione Granger. Twenty-five, like me. Mudblood, former Hogwarts student, anti-Voldemort, hopelessly devoted to 'good', but occasionally dabbles in some Grey Magic. Which is exactly why she is here. She's attempting to save one of her insipid little friends."

"Sounds like quite the spectacle. Are you certain my dear son will not be tempted by her?"

"I am hoping he is."

"Really?"

"He's been bleeding boring since he 'reformed'. Also, it would certainly give me something to lord over Granger."

"How much longer do you reckon?"

"She's returned from both of her unaccompanied attempts to retrieve the books she wants looking quite upset and dishevelled. They are currently in the study, alone, and my father hasn't been properly shagged in a decade. I would think this very night if not already."

"You underestimate my son. Not for another week, at least. I would wager another 600 galleons on it."

"And which 600 would those be?"

"Those that I won playing dominos the month before I died."

"Grandmother said you never won anything playing dominos."

"Of course she did. Why would I ever tell Isadora the truth?"

His grandson smirked grandly, an effort that made Abraxas quite proud to have had some relation to him, before walking steadily off towards the study to see how the other two occupants of the manor were progressing.

Several hours later, Abraxas was shaken from his easy sport of staring animatedly at the opposing wall by an embarrassed squeal followed by sharp laughter. Within moments, the woman stomped through his hallway, clutching her robes to her breast and half heartedly smoothing her hair from its disarray. The angry slam of the front entry was followed by the loud pop of Apparition. Both sounds rumbled through the manor with all the resonance of thunder.

Only moments after she was gone, his son and grandson walked grandly down the hall with matching smirks. His son looked curiously satisfied.

"I'm afraid I do not understand her state, father. I merely enquired whether she was as bright and shiny as I'd promised."

"Yes, well, you'll do well not to upset her too much. She has yet a part to play in my plan."

"Plot!" Abraxas interrupted with fervour.

"Of course, Grandfather, and where did you bury those 1200 galleons you promised?"

"Bury 1200 galleons, boy? You say such foolish things. Now quickly, tell me about the Mudblood that was just here. Who is she?"

* * *


	9. Something Off

**NOTE:**  
This collection of fics was originally posted on my lj as part of my Pick a Fic: Round II, in which posters could pick a plot bunny and prompt for me to write. The response was… more than I expected. None of these one-shots is connected to the previous in any way (except for _Regarding Hair_ as a short follow-up to _Love & War_), and I experimented with different styles and tones throughout. I don't think it worked out too well, but... I don't think it particularly bothers me anymore either.

* * *

**Something Off**  
_astarvingwriter_

_**Standard Disclaimer Applies**__**  
Author's Plea: **_Originally as part of Pick a Fic: Round II on my lj for the prompts picked by riza:**  
**Bunny #15 _Molly Weasley witnesses/walks in on Lucius and Hermione in a sexual act. She attempts to save Hermione._ with Prompt 035. _Sixth Sense_  
As always, enjoy if you can.

* * *

Molly knew something was off. She wasn't sure exactly what was off, but she knew it was Bad and had to do with that terrible Lucius Malfoy or his son. 

They had both been acting rather peculiar of late, even more peculiar than when they had arrived in a frightened and undignified heap of contrition at her doorstep four years ago. Though the two had fooled or otherwise appeased the rest of the Order with their apparent transformation (and the offering of invaluable information that won the war), she would have none of it, not even four years after the peace had been reached for all and sundry.

Something was off, they were being peculiar, and that was that.

That tickling thought in the back of her head continued to be bothersome until she just new that something had to be done. Molly liked to believe that every mother had some sort of sixth sense. She also liked to believe that hers was a bit more attuned than most, and that belief was only heightened when the witches and wizards she took her concerns seemed to almost be humoured by her suspicions. It was disconcerting and only made her worry grow by leaps and bounds.

The moment when she knew action was necessary, with or without the support of the others, was during the Yule season. Everyone had gathered at the newly renovated Grimmauld Place and life was a bit hectic as ham and pudding were prepared by several matrons of varying skill. At one point, Draco Malfoy, invited to the festivities out of duty and accepted out of probable spite, had entered the kitchen to watch the power struggles. With a frown and a spark, she had decided to set him to work.

"Draco, would you please fetch Hermione? We need her to start the gravy."

He smirked. He smirked in such a fashion that her blood ran cold, and she almost dropped the casserole dish.

"I don't particularly think she wants to be fetched right now," he drawled smoothly. "She's in the upstairs study with my father."

This time she did drop the casserole dish.

"Well... I'll just fetch her myself, shall I?" she mumbled with authority as she removed her apron and left the kitchen in a flurry.

Grimmauld Place seemed to be much bigger than she recalled, especially considering all the improvements Harry, Ron, and Ginny had made over the years. The upstairs study was actually the converted attic, and Hermione spent most her time in that glorious space. Her children and Harry had jokingly referred to it as Hermione's Chamber, especially after finding her there several mornings. However, it _was_ a public place, despite the 'do not disturb' sign someone had jokingly hung on the doorknob.

Still, it would be rude not to knock.

"Hermione?" she called through the door. "Hermione, we need you in the kitchen."

She thought she heard a few thumps and maybe even some whispering from inside the room, and that told her that whatever they were doing in that room, it was probably Bad. After all, those very same sounds from the twins' room usually meant some sort of explosion, fight, or general mayhem. It was even because of Fred and George that Molly knew exactly how to get through almost any magical locking charm.

And then what little doubt she had left dissolved when she heard two little words.

"Lucius... please."

Without further hesitation, Molly knew exactly what she had to do.

"I'll save you, Hermione," she whispered passionately as she began undoing the locks. With a grand flourish, she threw open the door and entered the room with her wand ready.

The scene before her wasn't quite what she had been expecting. As it was, she was so thoroughly entrenched in the need to rescue, she never stopped to notice that Hermione was both not so much a child anymore and nor did she look like she needed to be rescued. In fact, had Molly seen through the haze of her righteousness, she might have thought that Hermione looked quite pleased indeed.

Instead, she saw the Dreadful Foe, Lucius Malfoy, _assaulting_ poor Hermione in such a terrible way. With his... and the... and the poor girl's hands were tied above her head. That certainly couldn't be comfortable.

"Step away from Hermione you... you... beast!" Molly said only after she fired a poorly aimed hex in Lucius's general direction.

The man, if she could even call him a man, looked worried for scarcely a second before amusement took its place. Without pausing a beat, he somehow managed to spin the scantily clad and obviously mortified Hermione off the table and into his arms. The girl immediately sought to cover her near-nudity with a nearby white shirt, but was having some difficulty while her hands were tied. With a smirk all the more pretentious than even his son, the wretched man snatched the shirt out of Hermione's hands and put it on himself. The poor girl whimpered something awful at which Lucius merely laughed and pointedly raised an eyebrow.

"Mrs. Weasley, I was unaware you were unable to read."

Molly's confusion was just obvious beyond her rage for the man to laugh again.

"There was a sign on the door, was there not? What about 'do not disturb' is difficult to understand?"

"I heard noises. I heard you attacking her!"

"Whatever _noises_ you heard, madam, I can assure you Miss Granger was not being attacked."

"Then why are her hands tied?"

"Because she wanted them to be."

The sound Hermione made them, even as she had managed to gather enough dignity to not hide in Lucius arms, was a mixture between a laugh and a groan. When the girl finally gathered her composure, she turned to Molly with rosy cheeks and an embarrassed expression.

"It's true, Mrs. Weasley. We were... Lucius and I are involved. I thought everyone knew, and for that I apologize."

It took a full minute before that statement made any sense to Molly.

"You...? And he? But _Hermione_! Foolish child, don't you know who he is?" she said, her embarrassment at finally realizing what exactly she had interrupted warping quickly into disapproval.

"I am hardly a child anymore, _Molly_, and I certainly am aware of who he is. I hardly wish to shag strangers."

And Molly had no comment on that. With her mouth flapping with indignation, she gave them each a look intended to bring shame but which failed miserably for perhaps the first time, and stomped pointedly out of the room.

After all, she was not defeated and her sixth sense hadn't been wrong. She had simply underestimated the extent of Lucius Malfoy's rottenness. Now he had involved poor Hermione in his schemes.

Yes, something was _still_ off, they were _all_ being peculiar, and that was that.

* * *


	10. Mother Malfoy

**NOTE:**  
This collection of fics was originally posted on my lj as part of my Pick a Fic: Round II, in which posters could pick a plot bunny and prompt for me to write. The response was… more than I expected. None of these one-shots is connected to the previous in any way (except for _Regarding Hair_ as a short follow-up to _Love & War_), and I experimented with different styles and tones throughout. I don't think it worked out too well, but... I don't think it particularly bothers me anymore either.

* * *

**Mother Malfoy**  
_astarvingwriter_

_**Standard Disclaimer Applies**__**  
Author's Plea: **_Originally as part of Pick a Fic: Round II on my lj for the prompts picked by phaet:**  
**Bunny #53 _Abraxas Malfoy may be dead but his wife is still every bit as codgy and controlling. Mother Malfoy takes it upon herself to find her 'wayward' son a new wife._ with Prompt 083. _And_  
As always, enjoy if you can.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy liked to think that his mother was dead. All contact with the strange and dour woman had been severed long ago, and he hadn't even bothered to inform her of Draco's birth. 

He even went so far as telling other people that she had died near the same time as his father, a lie that was aided by her self imposed seclusion after Abraxas was entombed. It also helped that she had never been a particularly friendly woman and therefore suffered no great number of acquaintances --acquaintances who accepted Lucius' statement of her death with little more than a sigh of relief. He very much mirrored their relief –his mother was demanding and eccentric, two traits that never bode well. The world was much better off without her.

Lucius Malfoy was so fond of thinking his mother was dead that he actually came to believe it a bit himself. After all, as they hadn't communicated in three decades, she might very well be.

Thus it was a grand surprise when Lucius entered his parlour Christmas evening to find the witch in all her outdated finery sitting in his favourite chair.

"Son," she stated without a hint of preposition.

"Mother," he responded tersely once he had stilled his frightened heart.

"If dear Abraxas was alive… The curtains are atrocious, and your cravat is crooked. Surely that woman knows better."

"That woman was my wife."

"And a right terrible one at that, I always tell him. Always leaving the elves to tend to you. So lax in her duties and too focused on herself. And the worst sense of style of anyone short of a Mudblood. Really, yellow with her colouring?"

"It hardly matters now. Narcissa has... left."

"Always suspected she would. That one always had her eyes open. Only a matter of time."

"She is not discrediting herself with another man, mother. She is merely spending time with her sister Andromeda and attempting to distance herself as much from her past life and misdeeds as possible."

"She is discrediting you all the same by not staying. You need a true wife, my son, and not some flouncy aristocrat."

"Has it escaped your notice that _you_ are an aristocrat?"

"Not where it mattered. I could tie a cravat, even while wearing a petticoat. _She_ could not say the same. _She_ had no care for details other than those embroidered on her hem. _She_ was not a _wife_."

Lucius could only close his eyes with weariness as his mother took up the old argument right where they had left it off. This time he could not even argue with her. Narcissa was a beautiful woman and very useful indeed, but her command of the house elves only extended to her interests, leaving him with unpolished shoes a good deal. It was annoying at best and downright sulk-worthy at worst.

"Very well, mother. What would you have me do?"

"I would have you find a new wife. However, as I see you are incapable, I shall have to lend my own hand."

And at that moment, despite his associations with Voldemort --twice even!--, despite his capture at the hands of fools and children, despite his short residence in Azkaban, Lucius felt cold despair for the first time.

* * *

His mother had been busy during her seclusion. She had still received and thoroughly read the _Daily Prophet_ with precision that was to be envied or pitied. Through its pages, she had been able to keep up with the goings on in the world outside, even if it took a bit of inferring from what the text actually stated. She well knew his disgrace and punishment and subsequent escape from justice. 

She knew everything and told him as such plainly and with no little amount of disappointment. He was astonished to find he could still feel hurt by that tone of voice.

Unfortunately, she had kept abreast with more than just events and politics. His mother had also composed quite a collection of folders regarding important witches, one of whom she hoped might make a better wife for him. The selection was varied and more than once he had to surreptitiously toss a folder and its contents into the fire in fear she might actually be considering the candidate. He was able to burn quite a few before his mother wizened up and made the folders inflammable.

In the end, after several days of arguing and threatening, his mother had the field narrowed down to 15 candidates from which he could select. He still argued that none among them was worthy.

"Mother, I have never even acknowledged half of these witches," he stated in a tone of voice far closer to an unruly teenager than a full grown man.

"Then you will acknowledge them at the Minister's New Year's Ball this Friday."

"Surely you jest."

"I do no such thing."

"I will not attend."

"_We_ will attend, and that is all that will be said."

And she remained silent for the remaining days leading up to the event, something for which he was both gracious and cautious. After all, one could never tell what the old woman was plotting.

It was only as he grudgingly prepared for his first public appearance since the end of the war that she bothered speaking again.

"Your cravat is still crooked. You simply must find a wife tonight if you are to continue leading a life worth living."

At that, he could only sneer and hold still as she fussed about the state of his dress robes. By the time they were ready to Apparate, he was in pristine condition.

His pristine condition, he found as soon as they arrived at the Ball, was all but a joke. Wizarding fashion had apparently changed quite a bit since he had last made an effort at civilized conversation. The younger wizards around were quite simply and terribly attired, and the witches were absolutely scandalous. The only people properly dressed with a modicum of decency were himself, his mother, and a quiet young witch who sat at a table with a book and glass of wine.

His mother's attention was immediately caught, whether it was her respectable appearance, or the fineness with which she held her wine glass, or the care with which she pressed each page of her book smooth it was uncertain. All the social niceties were followed quickly, despite his attempts to drag out conversation, before he was not so much steered as pushed towards the reading woman.

Luckily, propriety forbid them from interrupting the woman at her activity. Instead, they could follow the tried and true rule: they conversed just loud enough to entice the woman to join them.

"I daresay Abraxas would have enjoyed this ball," his mother began in a voice intended to be overheard. "So many deluded souls to flatter and deceive."

"Mother, perhaps father's penchant for deception is not an appropriate topic."

"Would you rather I speak of his penchant for domesticating pigeons?"

"That was your hobby, Mother. Father preferred historically inaccurate accounts of Goblin wars."

A quick glance at the young woman showed her still staring fixedly at her book. However, all signs seemed to indicate that she was not actually _reading_ it, instead paying attention to his conversation. He almost smirked at the sure win.

"He did enjoy his books, did he not? They were still in the library when I left."

"They remain still. I hardly wished to sully his memory."

"Oh, but Lucius, do you not remember your own hobby?"

He paled, becoming less a man of substance and more like a ghost.

"Perhaps now is not the proper time to speak of such things, Mother."

"Foolishness! I never saw such a hobby!"

"Mother, I have no qualms in hexing you should you continue this subject."

"But, the dolls! The porcelain dolls. Oh, the finery you would adorn them in! Such pretty things."

"Mother, please--"

"You were always so _concerned_ about those dolls. Especially the little brown haired one. Abraxas always thought it strange, thought you were a bit flouncy."

"Mother--"

"Do you remember when he attempted to burn them? That was your first major display of magic, son. His wand flew right out of his hand and the dolls went safely behind the chaise. You did not even notice what you had done, too concerned were you about the dolls."

Lucius was near ready to explode with his embarrassed fury. His hand itched to take his wand and make certain the woman truly was dead this time. The only thing that stopped him was the stifled giggle that quickly became a hearty chuckle from the forgotten other occupant of the table.

"And what do you find so amusing, Miss?" he said sharply with no small bit of threat.

"Dolls? The great, despicable Lucius Malfoy played with dolls?"

His eyes flashed with rage as he struggled to keep from doing something stupid. After all, there were witnesses here.

"I hardly find that laughable," he ground out.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. Still, quite unexpected. I believe you have just made my night entertaining. Now, if you excuse me, I believe the Under Secretary is requesting my presence."

And with a happy smile, she rose from her seat and set off towards the dance floor.

He was almost rid of the woman, and hopefully the experience was enough to convince his mother of the uselessness of her project. Whether he needed a wife or not was immaterial. There simply were no worthy candidates.

In fact, he was quite happily plotting the rest of his life, hopefully mother-free, when the young woman turned back to face him with her wand raised. His eyes widened in surprise even as she flicked it.

"My apologies, Mr. Malfoy. Your cravat was crooked. It was bothersome."

And with a happy little grin, she turned again and resumed her journey to the Under Secretary. It wasn't until after several long minutes of watching the young woman interact with the political attendees that he chanced a glance at his mother. The old woman was smiling quite victoriously.

"My son, I do believe we have found a wife for you."

The remainder of the evening and the following days were filled with his argument against the notion. However, even the woman's identity, when he finally learned it, was not enough to dissuade his mother. Hermione Granger was intelligent, articulate, and particular. Though she was more lax with her own everyday appearance, she was more than conscious of the shortcomings of others. In short, she was perfect.

Despite her heritage, or maybe even because of it, Hermione Granger soon became the focus of his mother's wooing on his behalf. They both fought the idea, but it mattered little. Two years saw them married and happily ensconced in the redecorated parlour of the Manor.

When Mother Malfoy, as she had been dubbed by Hermione, last looked in on them, it was a scene of domestic bliss. Lucius read the paper, and his new wife read her book while slowly stroking his arm. The yellow curtains had long since been replaced by a deep blue that flattered Lucius' colouring. His cravat was perfectly arranged.

He looked comfortable. He looked _happy_.

And really, she thought as she Apparated away, that was all she had ever wanted.

* * *


	11. A Bit of Proposing

**NOTE:**  
Starting at this particular chapter are various oneshots I've written and posted on my lj… but just never got around to posting here. Some are for my Lucius & Hermione & Draco claim on lj's ff100 community, some are just plain random. Take your pick & enjoy if you can.

* * *

**A Bit of Proposing**  
_astarvingwriter_

_**Standard Disclaimer Applies**__**  
Author's Plea: **_Part of my claim for FF100 at LJ, this covers prompt _086. Choices_. Also, a play off the infamous WIKTT Marriage Law challence.  
As always, enjoy if you can.

* * *

When Hermione was summoned by the Order, she truly did not expect for the matter of importance to be her love life, though perhaps she should have expected as much from such a busy-body organization. Still, it took two hours of drivel and four false starts before the matter was finally discussed, at which point she was frustrated and about ready to Avada someone if a point was not made. 

"We… That is the Order… Have you kept with the news, Hermione?" Molly stumbled. Her question was met with a snort.

"Is this in regards to the new Marriage Law business the Ministry is pushing in which suspected Death Eaters, particularly the pure-blooded ones, are granted a full pardon if they marry a Muggle-born according to Ministry specifications? That should I be requested by any pure-blood I will be compelled to marry against my better judgment? Yes, I have ensured to keep myself well informed of this, probably moreso than you."

"Then you understand that we must take actions to keep you from becoming a target," Lupin said with a sigh.

"I assure you I have the situation under control. No action by the Order will be necessary."

"Oh, but Hermione, you must listen to our recommendation!"

"You've put some thought into this, have you? Decided to send me off where I'll be safe – and useless? Or perhaps you do not wish to conduct your own research and therefore have found someone you consider to be a suitable husband. Well, do tell. I am filled with anticipation."

The Order looked a bit unsettled by her droll attitude, and almost rethought their strategy. After all, she wasn't being nearly as grateful as they had expected, but then perhaps using her as bait for the last few stakeouts had made her a bit bitter.

It was Molly who finally found some courage, brought on by the thought of intelligent grandchildren, and replied.

"We've decided you will marry Ron. He'll keep you safe."

They had expected, when discussing the matter the day before, for Hermione to let out a sigh of relief and reveal that she had been hoping to marry Ron eventually anyway. Instead, they received another snort of disbelief.

"Ron? You expect me to marry Ron? Who came up with this brilliant plan?"

Molly was a bit taken aback, but felt the slight all the same.

"We went over all your options, Hermione, and decided this was the best one."

"Really? Ron? There wasn't another pure-blood in the Order who was better skilled and a better match than Ron? Was Kingsley busy? Charlie too good for me?"

"Now, Hermione, we know you are upset but there's no need to be –"

"To be what, Remus? Justifiably puzzled over how this decision came to be? I admit I do not understand your logic. Ron? Goodness, what were you thinking? Even Fred is a better match."

The venom in her tone was perhaps a bit too much to bear for Molly. After all, it was her youngest son this hussy was speaking of with such contempt.

"I suggest you understand our logic quickly as Ron has already submitted the required paperwork. You'll find quickly enough he is your best offer and your only chance of remaining valuable to the Order."

Molly left the table with a huff, her husband following obediently. Remus gave her a searching look before leaving as well. Slowly the other unnamed adults left the scene as well until all that remained was a particularly moody Hermione and Moody himself. Mad-Eye fixed both his eyes on her sympathetically, and she was more than grateful that she had taken the time to find an ally in him, especially as he had become quite a bit calmer since his incarceration by his doppelganger.

"You're a bit o' work, young lady."

"I suppose."

"You'd best be making your choice soon. This won't set well with Molly and the rest."

"I don't suppose it will. Still… Did you have any say in it? I can't believe you think Ron is the best option."

"I'd've offered myself, but Molly was quite persuasive."

"Thank you for the effort. However, it looks like fixing this properly is up to me."

"Be quick about it and careful. Constant vigilance is only the beginning."

With several footfalls and an equal number of wooden thumps, Moody left her to her thoughts.

Two hours and fifteen pieces of conjured parchments later, Hermione had her own, blessedly Weasley-free, solution. Now all she needed was to visit Azkaban.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy hated Azkaban with a passion unbefitting a domesticated pure-blood. He hated the dark, he hated the smell, and, most of all, he hated the lack of soap. The guards might allow their prisoners quick cleaning spells and even a shower every so many months, but soap was apparently undeserved. 

Thus, when Hermione Granger requested to speak with him regarding a proposal she thought would interest him, he agreed on the condition that she brought a bar of soap. He was particularly pleased with the wording of his response as it alluded to her filthy upbringing instead of his desperate need for the grease fighting substance.

Regardless of how he worded it, the look the young woman gave him upon handing over the bar of Blessedness told him exactly how she had interpreted his conditional statement. The smirk was entirely too reminiscent of a Malfoy and fit her features entirely too well. This discomfort was only expounded when she stated the purpose of her visit.

"I ask that you request my hand in marriage."

"Why would I do such a ridiculous thing?" he sneered, though perhaps it was spoiled by his grip on his precious soap.

"Because your compliance with the new Ministry Marriage Law will grant you a full pardon. You will be free, or relatively so, Mr. Malfoy. Or are your ridiculous prejudices worth more to you than soap?"

He thought perhaps she already knew too much if she had already discovered his one weakness. Still, he would not give in so easily, even if she did promise clean glory.

"To comply with the law I must marry you? There are better options than a filthy Mudblood such as yourself."

"Filthy? Perhaps you do not need my assistance, Mr. Malfoy. Or my soap. It's cocoa butter, you know. Handmade by witches in the Alps."

He clutched his prize tighter, determined to make it through this meeting with his savior intact.

"I assure you, I am the best offer you will receive. However much soap you require while the details are worked out, then freedom, both political and social. That is not to mention a young wife will make you appear very desirous, especially after your ex-wife's departure. You need not work, as I will unfreeze your Gringotts' accounts, but I do expect you to say nothing in regards to my own career. If you require a new heir, I will gladly provide though I will have some say in the matter of appropriate timing."

"And Draco?"

"Missing since he attempted to kill Dumbledore. If I was his step-mother, I could make the case for a pardon for him as well. At the very least, the two of us together could locate and keep him safe."

He was silent as he considered her offer, letting the soothing smell of the soap lead him to the right decision. Still, he had to know…

"And what, pray tell, is in it for you? Why are you so interested in marrying me?"

"The Order of the Phoenix, which you must realize I am apart of, has submitted a proposal on behalf of Ronald Weasley in an ill conceived plan to keep me out of Death Eater hands. As I have received no other viable options, I am left to protect my own future."

"And so you wish to make a deal with me to keep from joining the Weasley family? How… fitting."

"I thought you would understand."

"Very well, I accept. But I do expect to live in the manner I was accustomed to before my incarceration."

"Of course. I'll have the paperwork submitted to you for your approval and signature. Please be sure to send it promptly and let me know if you come across any difficulties. If all goes as planned, you will be a free man before the month is out."

* * *

When Ron Weasley's proposal was denied, Molly Weasley unleashed her full wrath on the girl she'd wanted as a daughter-in-law. When subsequent proposals by assorted other unmatched Weasleys were also denied, she refused to let Hermione into Order meetings until she saw sense. When Hermione announced her impending nuptials to the notorious Dark wizard Lucius Malfoy, the Order almost unanimously decided to retract their offer of membership under the claim that she was not in her right mind, obviously. 

The day of Hermione's wedding, she found her supporters few. However, she had one visitor that she had almost expected and he even stayed for the reception. Whether his presence was a threat or promise was up to interpretation.

"Alastor, I appreciate you being here."

"Someone needed to let the man know what he was getting into. I'll keep my eye out for you, Hermione. If he tells you anything worth knowing, I'll keep the light on at Headquarters."

"Let them know they can still owl, will you? Perhaps they don't agree with my choice, but they never said I didn't have one. And really, think of the opportunities! The best way to fight Dark wizards is to _know_ Dark wizards. I can't imagine a better way to do so. And all without murdering or torturing anyone, which is more than I can say if I had married Ron."

"All the same, keep your mind clear and your back shielded. He'll turn on you, that one."

"I expect so. It helps that he knows that I know his weakness. Now, if you excuse me, I must return to my husband. We have much to discuss and a wedding night to enjoy. I hear the hotel has an excellent selection of soaps."

And with that puzzling statement, the recently dubbed Hermione Malfoy rejoined her new husband and lived happily ever after.

* * *


	12. Awkward

**NOTE:**  
Starting at this particular chapter are various oneshots I've written and posted on my lj… but just never got around to posting here. Some are for my Lucius & Hermione & Draco claim on lj's ff100 community, some are just plain random. Take your pick & enjoy if you can.

* * *

**Awkward**  
_astarvingwriter_

_**Standard Disclaimer Applies**__**  
Author's Plea: **_Part of my claim for FF100 at LJ, this covers prompt _078. Where_.  
As always, enjoy if you can.

* * *

Hermione finds it still awkward, even after half a decade, to wake up to her son-in-law knocking on her bedroom door. She always wonders briefly if all stepmothers feel this way, until logic reasserts itself and reminds her quite rigidly that most stepmothers are more than six months older than their husbands' children. 

Of course, she had tried for a good year to wake the boy's father into answering the persistent knock only to finally accept that Lucius would only and ever wake up when he decided to. One too many elbows to the nose forced the point until she finally stopped trying. Still, even given the necessity, it is always awkward.

"I'm leaving," he says flatly. A quick glance shows her son-in-law in his best traveling cloak with luggage patiently floating in the hall behind him.

"I can see that," she responds in kind.

"Is he awake?" The plea in his tone is unmistakable, as is the knowledge that he is still such a boy, even after all this time.

"No."

"He would be if Mother was here," he sneers.

She remains quiet, letting the fact that his mother rarely if ever used the same bedroom as his father remain unsaid. They both know it already.

"Where are you going this time, Draco?" she finally asks with resignation.

"Away from here."

"I believe that part is obvious."

"I'm not telling you. I want to be alone."

"You said that last time."

"This time I mean it."

She regards him quietly, picking up the angry, panicked flush high on his cheekbones. He is twenty-eight, same as she, and still so young.

"Very well. Owl us if you need anything."

"I don't need anything from _you_."

"All the same, your father will want to know."

"I don't care."

She sighs and rubs her tired eyes. She is tired of this conversation, tired of his immaturity, and tired of him.

"Of course, because marrying a Mudblood instantly makes him unworthy of the complete and utter devotion you bestowed upon him for your first twenty years."

"He doesn't care either way."

"Of course not. He spoiled you rotten only to forget the instant a new wife entered the picture. Honestly, Draco, do you think so little of him? He thinks so much of you."

"You know nothing."

"Nothing? Yes, because it completely escapes my notice how much he worries constantly every time you throw a tantrum and run off into the wild."

"Shut up, Mudblood."

"Grow up, ferret."

They stare angrily at each other, letting over a decade of dislike settle into their expressions. Still, her eyes are tinged with pity, and it is this that causes him to look away first.

"Tell him I'll be back before his birthday," he states finally.

"I will. Take care of yourself, Draco."

He nods before turning and striding away from her door and towards the main entrance to the manor. She watches him leave before closing the door and returning to her warm husband and warm bed.

* * *


	13. The Shoes

**NOTE:**  
Starting at this particular chapter are various oneshots I've written and posted on my lj… but just never got around to posting here. Some are for my Lucius & Hermione & Draco claim on lj's ff100 community, some are just plain random. Take your pick & enjoy if you can.

* * *

**The Shoes**  
_astarvingwriter_

_**Standard Disclaimer Applies**__**  
Author's Plea: **_Entirely random. Absolutely no point to this. I blame the muse.  
As always, enjoy if you can.

* * *

Harry realized the identity of Hermione's secret lover at exactly one o'clock on a balmy Friday afternoon in Diagon Alley. 

It had been the shoes, he would later recall, the fancy leather shoes that had sparked his epiphany. He had seen those shoes before, mistook them as Hermione's, a thought that still made him giggle. Those very same shoes, polished to an extreme and rather small for a full grown man, he had seen under a chair in the sitting area of Hermione's flat. He wouldn't have thought anything about them, had it not been for the distinctive silver buckle on the side in the form of a snake, something he would not have matched with Hermione's rather simple tastes.

In truth, it did not match Hermione's taste though it matched the owner of the shoes well enough.

"Harry, oh, are you okay?" Hermione rambled as she helped him to his feet.

"I'm fine," he responded after a slight pause, rubbing his bruised shin.

"What did you trip over?"

He hadn't tripped over anything, really. Instead, he'd been in a daze over his friend's continuous monologue regarding her recent experiences at work. In such a daze, he'd taken to watching the few meters of ground that rolled in front of him as they walked. It was with this restricted view that he saw the familiar shoes, and followed the legs up to reveal the owner.

It was that discovery that sent him tumbling to the ground.

"I'm fine, Hermione."

"But..."

"Why, Miss Granger," a smooth voice interrupted. "I should expect to find you fawning over Mr. Potter."

"Mr. Malfoy," she responded curtly.

"When you are not so occupied, perhaps you will have a moment to review the latest additions to my charges. Some of us cannot dally, Miss Granger."

Harry thought for a moment that was anger coloring her face until he remembered the shoes. Suddenly he began to rethink of the past encounters he had witnessed between the two, going back as far as his Hogwarts days.

"Of course, Mr. Malfoy. Owl my office with a time you will be available and I will see to it. Good day, Mr. Malfoy."

The extra stomp in her stride seemed to amuse Lucius Malfoy who merely smirked triumphantly before turning smoothly on the heel of his highly recognizable (and shiny) shoes.

Harry wondered who they thought they were fooling. Of course, they had fooled him for long enough, so perhaps that wasn't the best question. Instead, he pondered what exactly he was going to do with this information.

* * *


	14. A Dramatic Display

**NOTE:**  
Starting at this particular chapter are various oneshots I've written and posted on my lj… but just never got around to posting here. Some are for my Lucius & Hermione & Draco claim on lj's ff100 community, some are just plain random. Take your pick & enjoy if you can.

* * *

**A Dramatic Display**  
_astarvingwriter_

_**Standard Disclaimer Applies**__**  
Author's Plea: **_Entirely random and silly. Even less of a point to this one. A bit of pointless fluff that wouldn't leave me alone when I was working on _Falsity_.  
As always, enjoy if you can.

* * *

They could hear the happy murmuring of hundreds of happy teenagers even through the thick wooden doors of the Great Hall. It was almost enough for her to lose her nerve. It was more than enough for him. 

"I believe I left something in my common room..."

"Your spine?"

"This is a stupid idea!"

"It was _your_ idea!"

"All I said was that it might be best to start small and work up to the truth. This isn't what I meant!"

"Well, it's too late now! Really, _Draco_, do you really believe a plan endorsed by your father is stupid?"

"He hasn't exactly shown the best mind for strategy."

"Yes, but I thought up the details for this one and both of you have used my ideas before with limited success--"

"_Limited--_"

"--And only limited because neither of you cared to listen to my entire strategy before running off with it."

"Bollocks."

"Perhaps a language you comprehend easier: if you do not do this correctly, I will not hesitate to tell your father about that certain indiscretion behind the greenhouses."

"You wouldn't!"

"You know I would."

They glared at each other unrepentantly until he gave in to the painful promise in her eyes.

"Fine," he spat angrily. "Let's get this over with and save our arses. I'll still have you know that all this is entirely your fault."

"So says the boy who locked me in a room with his father. Did you really expect us to exit gracefully?"

"I didn't expect you to exit at all."

"Too bad. Now get ready. Time to change everything."

* * *

The Hufflepuff had just settled himself in with a full serving of roast beef and roast potatoes, fully prepared for an altogether satisfying and uneventful meal, when one of the doors to the Great Hall opened with some effort to reveal a furiously snogging couple. 

At first, the Hufflepuff was content to ignore them. After all, he didn't see a yellow tie and he was far too young to be thinking that sort of behaviour appropriate. However, it suddenly occurred to him what colours the ties actually were.

He squeaked, and it happened to be at the exact right frequency that made near everyone in the Great Hall turn towards the source of the noise and find instead the two enemies locked in a passionate embrace.

"Hermione!" a certain angry Gryffindor shouted at exactly the same time a certain female Slytherin squealed in disgust before promptly passing out.

The noise of her head hitting the hard stone floor had just the percussive sound necessary to stir the lovers from their activity. They smiled giddily at each other for a second before Hermione Granger turned and acknowledged her audience with an unfeigned blush.

"Um... Good evening."

"How could you, Hermione?" asked Harry. "You... He... How could you?!"

"O, don't sound so accusatory, Harry. This has nothing to do with you."

"Yes, Potty, so shut it."

"Quiet, Draco."

"But, pet..."

"How many times have I asked you not to call me 'Pet'?"

"That isn't what you said last night."

A startled and giddy gasp went through the Great Hall.

"Are you trying to embarrass me, Draco?"

"Ah, so you get it now, do you? Wondered how long it would take you to pick up on it, _Mudblood_!"

A startled and disgruntled gasp went through the Great Hall.

"You... You..." Hermione spluttered before her countenance hardened considerably. "Well, I was only using you to get to your father!"

"WHAT?!" several people, students and professors alike, proclaimed.

"All this time I've been sneaking off with you, it was only so I could be closer to Lucius!"

"But... But... You were never at the manor! You couldn't have been with my father as he can't leave!"

"Did you really think you could hide that portkey you keep in your dorm secret?"

"You filthy Mudblood, stay away from my father! I'll kill you first!"

"Are you really going to kill your own step-mother?"

The gasp this time was followed by several low clunks as several students fainted from the shock. Everyone else leaned forward so as not to miss the rest.

"Draco, I do believe this is it for us. You simply are not up to standard. I suppose I'll be seeing you during the holidays though, so stop snivelling and apologize already."

"I will _never_ apologize to a filthy Mudblood, even if she has ensnared my father in some spell."

With a huff and a flourish, Draco strode out of the Great Hall to the sound of silence. Hermione watched him go, content to savour these last few moments of speechlessness. When she finally turned to confront the contorted faces of the student body, she almost wished she could take a bow.

Such was it that all of Hogwarts, and the wizarding world at large, became aware of the relationship between Hermione Granger and Lucius Malfoy.

* * *


	15. A Narrative Article

**NOTE:**  
This is a collection of various oneshots I've written and posted on my lj… but just never got around to posting here. Some are for my Lucius & Hermione & Draco claim on lj's ff100 community, some are just plain random. Take your pick & enjoy if you can.

**

* * *

****Regarding the Granger-Malfoy Marriage: A Narrative Article**  
_Just A Penniless Writer_

_**Standard Disclaimer Applies**_

_**Author's Plea**_: Originally written for the LJ community lhr fqf for challenge 9: _Hermione frees the elves; Lucius and his former elves plan some payback_. I've never cared for it much. Entirely too much narrative, hence the title. Enjoy if you can.

* * *

The circumstances behind the seemingly happy marriage between Lucius Malfoy and Hermione Granger are convoluted and difficult to pinpoint. However, the author has researched the subject thoroughly and has come upon the following conclusion: their marriage had everything to do with politics. The following account is an approximation of how exactly the two unlikely characters were bound together in matrimonial bliss. 

Upon becoming Special Assistant to the Minister of Magic, which was a spiffy enough title without taking into consideration that the actual Minister was completely clueless and therefore highly exploitable, Hermione Jane Granger immediately pushed her highly disguised House-Elf Abuse Law straight through the Ministry. It only took a week of overloading the Minister with all sorts of other useless laws until he was signing whatever she shoved under his nose. All in all, it was a week well spent with many political successes on her part.

The House-Elf Abuse Law became effective long before the specifics were brought to the attention of the public. Particularly troublesome was Article 115, Part 7, Section I, which stated in the insufferable and illegible language of politics that house-elves would be magically freed should abuse of any kind --physical, mental or emotional -- be suffered by a house-elf during the duration of his or her free labor.

Needless to say, Article 115, Part 7, Section I was quickly discovered and, under pressure of the public, retracted by a very delighted Minister who found the whole affair rather entertaining. However, this was not before several hundred house-elves were freed, the charm used in doing so seemingly not as easily retracted as the Article itself. In fact, Aurors and Cursebreakers working full time could not find a counter-charm but did find that their respect and fear of one Special Assistant to the Minister of Magic was tremendously higher than before Article 115 came to be.

Hermione herself felt somewhat accomplished and relished the one letter in 500, usually misspelled and accompanying some odd home-made gift, that was grateful for Article 115. She received twelve of these letters, edited them in red ink, framed them across from her desk, and looked to them whenever she began to feel any inklings of doubt. She felt these twelve were very much worth the other 6000, even if several of the angry parchments refused to burn properly in the fireplace and instead sent her out of her office until the smoke was cleared by Aurors.

Hermione Granger felt rather proud of herself indeed. Lucius Malfoy, on the other hand, did not.

To say that Lucius's past few years had passed well would be an outright lie. All the fun had been leached straight out of his life with Voldemort's return to form. Suddenly his delightful little forays into Muggle baiting had become all too important and held 'meaning'.

Then, misery of all miseries, he had been captured and sentenced to poor nutrition and tragic hair care for the better part of two years. When he had finally managed to plead his way out, he found his blessed son to be more of a whiner than he had chosen to remember and his lovely wife gone. Narcissa's note revealing her volunteering him for his ill-fated Ministry raid in order to have her bed free from such a covers thief was only slightly less off-putting than the fact that she had run off with Severus. The thought, when he cared to think of it, made him nauseous and curious. At the very least, her devious plan had backfired to a certain degree and involved her precious son.

Still, these thoughts and circumstances did not improve his mood, and he found his only solace was kicking, punting, and occasionally throwing his house-elves.

Such was it that not a day after the law had become effective, Lucius Malfoy found his remaining house-elves magically unable to do his bidding. His clothing began piling in the master suite, his food did not promptly appear at seven, and, horror of all horrors, his bath was not drawn. He suspected a rebellion until he saw the terrified and ugly faces of the elves as they were magically compelled to remain steadfastly standing in the study after he ordered them to leave. He quickly became very familiar with the tricky political writing of Article 115, and quickly became very, very upset with Miss Hermione Granger.

However, Lucius Malfoy was not a man to take such... impertinence so easily. And thus he concocted revenge...

When the first bloody house-elf finger arrived on her desk, Hermione was a bit perturbed.

When the second bloody house-elf finger arrived on her desk, Hermione contented herself with the fact that whoever had sent it was only freeing one more house-elf in their quest to make her miserable.

When the third bloody house-elf finger failed to rouse her interest or cause her any noticeable lack of sleep, Lucius tried a new approach.

He kidnapped her cat. However, the cat seemed to mock him with every fluffy inch and promptly died, thereby stealing from him the pleasure of killing it. When he sent the dead cat to her, she finally took notice, only to assume that the cat had died while out gnome hunting and a kind stranger had thought to alert her. She even sent his AnonyOwl back with a fruit basket.

When his letters failed to find their way through the 6000 other angry letters, he began to seriously worry that his revenge would never be realized. And so he locked himself in his study, which was growing quite stuffy without the elves blowing in fresh air, and Plotted.

Meanwhile, in the even stuffier kitchens, the former Malfoy house-elves also Plotted. Insubordination was simply not to be borne. More so, they were quite content, thank you very much, with how things were. The simple joy they felt from very slyly adding dirt and assorted other oddities to their Master's food without his notice, the exuberance they experienced from adding miniscule amounts of aging potion to their Master's wine... these were feelings not to be trifled with by a witch who thought she was smart.

Revenge is a dish best served cold, so they say. Lucius Malfoy believed this. The Malfoy house-elves lived this. They laid in wait for a year, gathering supplies and support, waiting for the perfect time to strike.

Such was it that Hermione Granger was very surprised to find her political life near sabotaged by an untimely scandal involving a fling with the Minister only a short week after she began to find all her important files missing. The scandal seemed to only grow from there as terrible affair after terrible fling was discovered by the press, some real and some imagined. The mess that was formerly her office grew even faster.

In her quieter moments, Hermione reflected that she regretted her one night stand with Marcus Flint even more now that he had spilled the details in a tell-all interview with Rita Skeeter. In her busier moments, she barely had time to reflect on her one night stand with Kingsley Shacklebolt as she tried to reconcile her paperwork into something resembling a filing system.

Hermione was just about to set her paperwork ablaze and leave her job, if not the wizarding world altogether, when a clue and solution to the suspicious havoc appeared with much fanfare and flourish. He was dressed as sharply as he could manage with a Rent-An-Elf and looking entirely too pleased as he saw her current state of affairs.

"Why Miss Granger, frolicking amidst garbage looks to be a familiar activity for you."

Unfortunately for Lucius, Hermione was very much not in the mood for trading sarcastic quips; Hermione was instead very much in the mood for threats and hexes, followed closely by blackmail and a healthy dose of truth serum. By the time Lucius Malfoy was allowed to leave her office, she had managed to discover all the details regarding his plot to ruin her and had a suitable way to protect any further degradation of her political reputation. That such a way involved the aforementioned blackmail, she was very much not in the mood for caring.

When the scandal finally calmed down, no doubt fueled by the public's new interest in her present preoccupation with Lucius Malfoy, she was still having definite issues with her filing. Her books, alphabetized by subject and author's name, were in a complete jumble, her inbox remained terribly full and her outbox seemed to have disappeared altogether. However, as her weekly dinners in public with Lucius brought her political connections she had never dreamed of, she really could not be bothered with the state of disaster that was her office. In fact, she found more and more reasons to stay out of her office altogether.

The house-elves found this simply would not do. Revenge must be had, after all, and they had their twisted little hearts set on continuing their unknown campaign against Lucius. Thus they extended their revenge to hiding her handbag, switching her Gringotts' key with that of Stan Shunpike, and making certain unidentifiable stains on her best robes. Still she managed to get by and the Malfoy house-elves were left dumbfounded until a great discovery was made.

The mandatory weekly dinners between Lucius and Hermione were far from the liberal/conservative collaboration that the Ministry explained. They were not even the public part of a scandalous affair that the Prophet proclaimed. No, the mandatory weekly dinners between Lucius and Hermione were terribly uncomfortable meals in complete silence, with seldom interruptions of insults. It was not a meal either Lucius or Hermione particularly enjoyed.

It was in this that the Malfoy house-elves found their perfect solution. The potion was simply enough added to their tea. The dinner was easy enough to change into the torrid night the Prophet suspected. The pair was quick enough to suspect foul play, especially when the consequences of the night were discovered.

And, to the house-elves sure delight, the Minister was happy enough to force the unlikely pair together with some choice blackmail that neither had ever expected from a man so obtuse.

Happiness is anything but static, a wise house-elf will tell you with improper sentence construction. Such was it that while life was anything but quiet in Malfoy Manor, there was a certain joy that each being experienced on a daily basis. For Lucius it was the pleasures of a young and fertile wife who could be deftly silenced with a simple spell. For Hermione, it was the connections provided by an old and well respected name, provided by a husband who could be deftly silenced with a simple spell. For the re-instated and newly paid Malfoy house-elves, joy was in their Master's receding hairline and their Mistress's ability to become very distracted whenever she began to research and Plot a new House Elf Law.It is perhaps possible to forget that even in situations not expected or desired, happiness is possible. The new Malfoy household found this to be true, even amidst politics, blackmail, exploding parchments, and questionable spices in delectable meals. May that be a lesson to us all.

* * *


End file.
